Blow Me Over: The 22nd Annual Hunger Games SYOT
by tracelynn
Summary: 12 years after the events of Oceanside, 24 new tributes will be Reaped and sent into a tortuous Midwestern arena, where they will be tormented by tornadoes and other horrors. Who will emerge alive, and who will be blown to the ground? SYOT CLOSED Last Chapter: Day Three of the Games.
1. Field of Fallen

**Welcome one and all to Tracee's second SYOT, Blow Me Over, the 22nd Annual Hunger Games! Oceanside is chapters away from its conclusion, and I've been thirsting to start up a new SYOT, so I decided to put this out there. This is in the same universe as Oceanside, just 12 years after the fact. After I wrap up Oceanside, I will include POVs from the lucky Victor of the 10th Hunger Games. After the meaty, story part of this chapter, I'll tell you the rules and give you the form afterwards. Enjoy, and I hope you all consider submitting and reading! :D**

* * *

 _And all the kids cried out,_

 _"Please stop, you're scaring me."_

 _I can't help this awful energy_

 _Goddamn right, you should be scared of me_

 _Who is in control?_

* * *

 _ **Lucia Theonis, 19**_

 _ **Resident of District 2**_

 _ **The Victor of the 21st Annual Hunger Games**_

The sharp sound of the snare drums beats through my chest, and I close my eyes, absorbing the ever consistent beat. The quick, military rapping of the drumsticks across the surface of the drums rattles my bones and heightens my senses. It brings me back to the promenade, the quick clop of horseshoes against the smooth cobbles, the steady pounding of the enormous timpani, the undulating cheers and waves of the incandescent Capitol crowd. The stark leather and gold gladiator costume was drenched with sweat, but that just made it gleam brighter under the whirring florescent lights imposed upon us. Bastian was dressed in matching attire, and we hefted false, silvery swords as long as our arms, cheering jovially. I knew then that we would dominate this arena. But I never knew that at the end, it would come down to just me and him, two swordmasters poised against one another, standing within the confines of the golden Horn.

I try to exculpate the memories from my head, but of course I'm going to think about it all know, of course I'm going to reminisce until my head explodes. Because it's Choosing Day, the fateful day a month before the Reapings where the male and female volunteer is selected after a brutal series of trials that test endurance, strength, prowess with weapons, bravery, and intellect. On Choosing Day, however, there's a dark side. For eleven months, the body or bodies of those that died in the previous Games have been painstakingly preserved in the District's morgue. Now, one black as night casket is being lowered into a crevice in the earth. Bastian rests, still and cold and pale as ice, inside it. There's only a single rift in the ground, for I'm here, alive. The excited volunteers stand nearby, but I don't mind them. _Excited._ Hmph. I know that volunteering is essential to keep Two the most virtuous and loyal District, and to keep those that don't have a chance at Victory out of the arena, but if I had my way no one would ever volunteer, no one would ever even enter the Hunger Games.

Suddenly the steady rap-tap-tap of the drums cease, and I find one of my fellow Victors, Scylas, prodding me. He waves me forward, and I remember. The Victors all help bury the dead. My heart speeds over the limit, its furious pounding replacing the tapping of the snares.

I step forward, Scylas and the three other Victors out of Two walking forward with me. We each grab a shovel. The cold iron and oak handle feels unnatural and heavy in my smooth, impeccable fingers. Of course, there's a Capitol reporter poking around since I'm here, so my prep team was driven over via train to dress me up like a little porcelain doll. My skin is smooth, the callouses from my chosen hobby, metalworking, rubbed away by acidic creams and scrubs. The stiff black dress I wear came with a matching little cap and veil, but those are long gone. I may be under constant scrutiny from the adoring Capitol who loved watching me murder little kids, but I still have _some_ freedom. The only reason I'm partially excited for the next Games is so that the Capitol will move onto the newest, hottest Victor. I got lucky. The Snows never sold me. They no leverage over me unless they want to bomb the precious District 2 Academy and the Nut to the ground and slit the throats of three of their hardest working and most loyal Peacekeepers (my parents and brother, Arius.)

I realize that I've been standing there, not moving, while the four others shovel. I fill up my shovel with cold, tightly packed brown dirt and heave it into the maw in the earth, my thickly muscled arms easily lifting the heavy shovel and its muddy load of soil. I shovel and shovel and shovel as the cold bites at my skin, and when we've filled the hole, we pat down the top layer with the flat parts of the shovel. Brick, another one of the other Victors, retrieves a large granite plaque and pushes it into the ground at the top of the grave. It reads "BASTIAN SEMPTUS" in thick black capital letters. Now Bastian rests in the Field of the Fallen, where 37 Careers and innocents from Two lay, still and cold, truly buried six feet under.

An early morning fog still clings to the Field, and as we shuffle away, the entire Field melts into the smoky mist. Scylas and Brick walk ahead, and Headmistress Anniston (yes, she still makes me call her Headmistress even though I graduated forever ago) goes off on her own on a hike through the nearby forest. Our oldest Victor, Clay, walks with me. He's short and wiry, not like the rest of us, who are all tall and thickly muscled. He's the only Victor from Two that didn't really train. Even Brick sort of trained in the quarries on his own. Clay was just a fit kid from Two who managed to make it out of the arena alive. But, anyway, he trudges down the hill with me. The Victor's Village sits on a nearby hill, the main city center hub of Two and the Academy a couple of miles away from there. Clay never really speaks much. He's very reserved and relaxed. So I'm surprised when I hear his voice warble from his lips.

"Her name was Carissa Thonson," he whispers, and I understand every word's truest meaning.

* * *

 **So that was a bit brief, but I'm going for quality, not quantity, with this story. I hope you enjoyed Lucia and the look into Two's lifestyle and traditions. I've always liked District Two, and I hope I wrote this well enough to get you all to submit tributes xD**

 **Before we get to the form, which will also be on my profile, here are my many rules. Sorry, but I want this to be a good SYOT, and in order for it to be good, I need a lot of good characters.**

 **1\. This is not a first come first serve. Please submit to whatever slot you please, and I'll select the best tribute for each slot. The deadline to turn in tributes is November 4th. At that point, any empty slots will be filled with extra submissions or Bloodbaths. If I get a pair of tributes I really like for a District, I will start writing them.**

 **2\. Please no Mary Sue's or Gary Stu's. Everyone says this, but even if you submit a Bloodbath, they can have a fully fleshed personality and character.**

 **3\. You can submit 4 tributes. If you submit 4, one must be a Bloodbath. I will accept all, some, or none.**

 **4\. Please use creative and District related names. I would rather have a girl named Rainbow Bryzwicki over a girl named Sophie White or a boy named Achille Hokkaido over a boy named Charles Jones. You don't have to go overboard on names, but please, be original, and consider using the District of origin in their name. And don't give a tribute a District name for a different District. Example: a Willow from 12 or a Cole from 7.**

 **5\. Also, while younger tributes are nice, most tributes in a Games would be ages 16-18. Don't hesitate to make an older tribute. I'd rather have no 12 year olds than having 10 12 year olds and 1 18 year old.**

 **6\. Please be thorough on filling out the form. Many tributes I received for Oceanside had only a couple of sentences for personality and description and I had to piece together their characters.**

 **7\. Please submit over PM. No guest submissions will be accepted.**

 **8\. I am not afraid to write challenging characters. Don't feel like you cannot submit a character because it might be difficult for me to write them. I like writing difficult, dynamic characters the most.**

 **9\. Diversity is key! Racial diversity, sexual diversity, age diversity, personality diversity, any diversity is amazing! :D**

 **Oh, and also one last note. I am not the type of author that will kill your tributes if you do not review, but I find reviews helpful, and it happens that most of the tributes that made it to the Top 8 in Oceanside were tributes of submitters who reviewed and read almost every chapter. Your feedback is truly appreciated, and if I know that you're reading and critiquing the story, your tribute will have a better chance of surviving longer.**

 **Thanks so much for reading this, and I truly hope you decide to submit! :D**

* * *

 **FORM FOR _BLOW ME OVER, 22nd ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES SYOT_**

 **TRIBUTE**

 **Name: (be creative! :)**

 **Gender:**

 **Age:**

 **Physical Description: (5-8 sentences, hair, eyes, skin, height, weight, scars, day-to-day clothing, etc.)**

 **Personality: (8+ sentences. Give it your all. The more fleshed out the personality, the better the character in my opinion)**

 **Backstory: (6+ sentences. Backstory is vital, but don't make your character 100% backstory.)**

 **Family: (basic description)**

 **Friends: (basic description)**

 **Significant other?:**

 **Basic summary of day-to-day life:**

 **Strengths:**

 **Weaknesses:**

 **Token:**

 **Reaping Outfit Ideas:**

 **Volunteered or Reaped?:**

 **If Volunteered, why?:**

 **If Reaped, reaction?:**

 **Quirks/Other attributes:**

 **GAMES  
**

 **Chariot Ride Outfit Ideas:**

 **Interview Outfit Ideas:**

 **What they show at Private Sessions:**

 **Suggested Score:**

 **Interview Angle:**

 **Alliances? How many?:**

 **Romance?:**

 **Bloodbath strategy:**

 **Games strategy:**

 **Predicted placement:**

 **Preferred death:**

 **OTHER**

 **Faceclaim:**

 **2-4 songs to be used in POVs that relate to your tribute _(very important)_ :**

 **Anything else:**

* * *

 **Update: Only two days in and we already have 17 submissions, and two thirds of the slots are filled. Only male slots are fully open now. I really like all of the characters I've gotten so far so I think that all I need is tributes for the open slots please consider submitting strong male tributes, as I do not want to kill all males in the Bloodbath. If we get all the slots filled before the 4th with characters I like then we can start early! :)**

 **Thanks again everyone!**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	2. Official Document of Gaius Pompeius Snow

_Document of President Gaius Pompeius Snow_

 _The 22nd Annual Hunger Games_

 _OoOoOo_

 _Tributes (if you want an updated list look on my profile):_

 _District 1: Trinity Vegas {18}; Zircon O'Dile {17}_

 _District 2: Ardin Varnell {18}; Tyberios Palatium {18}_

 _District 3: Fujitsa LaMac {17}; Millard Vaith {18}_

 _District 4: Cordelia Nile {17}; Chavez Belasco {18}_

 _District 5: Bernadette Areli {12}; Jayce Newman {17}_

 _District 6: Liberty Miles {16}; Fender Hopkins {17}_

 _District 7: Ivy Cross {16}; Baron Arbor {16}_

 _District 8: Gaia Imani {15}; Calico D'Amboise {14}_

 _District 9: Saffronelle "Sage" Alumius {15}; Luke Saturn {17}_

 _District 10: Miriam Park {13}; Rufus Braunvieh {16}_

 _District 11: Soya Chaffer {17}; Omri Plower {18}_

 _District 12: Carmen Ionique-Astron {17}; Gaylord Parthenia {16}_

 _OoOoOo_

 _Mentors_

 _District 1: Esquiria Pasquale, Victor of the 5th Annual Hunger Games, and Kenyan Rudd, Victor of the 13th Annial Hunger Games_

 _District 2: Serephina Manchas, Victor of the 10th Annual Hunger Games, and Scylas Ondino, Victor of the 15th Annual Hunger Games_

 _District 3: Takami Wired, Victor of the 16th Annual Hunger Games_

 _District 4: Oisin O'Cobb, Victor of the 3rd Annual Hunger Games, and Mags Flanagan, Victor of the 11th Annual Hunger Games_

 _District 5: Anneliese Petrova, Victor of the 12th Annual Hunger Games_

 _District 6: Calla Espenson, Victor of the 9th Annual Hunger Games_

 _District 7: Oakes Laine, Victor of the 4th Annual Hunger Games, and Paula Eufalu, Victor of the 13th Annual Hunger Games_

 _District 8: Uriah Matherton, Victor of the 2nd Annual Hunger Games, and Woof Parsons, Victor of the 17th Annual Hunger Games_

 _District 9: Unity Carden, Victor of the 1st Annual Hunger Games_

 _District 10: Oxen Bamby, Victor of the 20th Annual Hunger Games_

 _District 11: Pumpkin Little, Victor of the 7th Annual Hunger Games_

 _District 12: Eris Glasshine, Capitol Mentor_

 _OoOoOo_

 _Escorts_

 _District 1: Iono Sorrus, Escort for 4 Years_

 _District 2: Cretta Lexanbridge, Escort for 12 Years_

 _District 3: Luizy Cathede, Escort for 5 Years_

 _District 4: Tytan Clortis, Escort for 3 Years_

 _District 5: Ambrosia Heavenfall, Escort for 7 Years_

 _District 6: Medusa Soldes, Escort for 8 Years_

 _District 7: Razzle Junehop, Escort for 10 Years_

 _District 8: Alexandrius Hamis, Escort for 5 Years_

 _District 9: Patrisa Ngostic, Escort for 3 Years_

 _District 10: Fixtata Discos, Escort for 6 Years_

 _District 11: Phemia Empire, Escort for 11 Years_

 _District 12: Edna Trinket, Escort for 22 Years_

 _OoOoOo_

 _Stylists_

 _District 1: Junova Wesleyan, Stylist for 11 Years_

 _District 2: Grecia Mathilde, Stylist for 10 Years_

 _District 3: Amandus Brushes, Stylist for 16 Years_

 _District 4: Pufelle Chassy, Stylist for 9 Years_

 _District 5: Speciallo Canty, Stylist for 5 Years_

 _District 6: Twinkle Petyr, Stylist for 7 Years_

 _District 7: Glitzya Hispa, Stylist for 2 Years_

 _District 8: Fashionista Pink, Stylist for 8 Years_

 _District 9: Cravat Lumbroux, Stylist for 20 Years_

 _District 10: Powder Lyanne, Stylist for 6 Years_

 _District 11: Ygga Tossel, Stylist for 9 Years_

 _District 12: Amazingus Amarillo, Stylist for 1 Year_

 _OoOoOo_

 _Commentators_

 _Fabula Obcubo and Nuntius Calpor_

 _(since the 14th and 16th Annual Hunger Games respectively)_

 _OoOoOo_

 _Head Gamemaker_

 _Ludum Factorem_

 _(since the 15th Annual Hunger Games)_

 _OoOoOo_

 _President_

 _Gaius Pompeius Snow_

 _(since the 1st Annual Hunger Games, and forever more)_


	3. Career Mentors

_Ain't gonna let it bother me today_

 _I been workin' and I'm too tired anyway_

 _But it's all right 'cause it's midnight_

 _And I got two more bottles of wine_

* * *

 ** _Esquiria Pasquale, 32_**

 ** _Resident of District 1_**

 ** _Victor of the 5th Annual Hunger Games_**

I'm ashamed as I watch the caramel-brown liquor slosh around the glass cup. I've been staring at it, occasionally nursing a small sip, for the past hour. The ice cubes glitter in the plethora of pulsating dance floor lights, melting slowly and watering down my expensive glass of scotch. I bring the glass to my lips again and let the acidic liquid burn across my tongue and set wildfires down my throat. I hate everything about alcohol. Its taste, its texture, its price tag. There's one exception to my hatred. That exception is its alluring power to erase memories and make the night pass in a blur, something I really need right now.

My wandering eyes rove out to the dance floor. I see things in snapshots. Rainbow colored lights highlighting a sashaying girl. Two indiscernible figures grinding wildly on the dance floor. Bottles raised high, bottoms up. Capsules, small and white in color, are passed from teenager to teenager. My lip curls with disgust, and I down the rest of the scotch in one hearty gulp. I can't believe that this is what One has come to.

I grew up in the ashes of the rebellion. I was old enough to remember it when the bombs fell onto homes and hovercrafts blasted spitfire into seas of children. I was old enough to see a man, my father, with a gunshot wound through his heart, dying on a dirty cot while my mother frantically tried to stop the bleeding with her inadequate healing skills. I was old enough to remember and understand the yells of kidnapped and dying men, the screams of women being dragged into empty buildings by ravenous, victorious Peacekeepers, the whimpers of newly orphaned children. I hate the Capitol. And One has become one of it's lapdog, right behind Two in loyalty. Instead of being creative, intelligent artisans, my District is quickly dissolving into a society of vain, airheaded loyalists who would rather overdose on some unknown pills or die in the Hunger Games for a week of fame than actually be decent, caring human beings. I quickly order a glass of red wine. That stuff always knocks me out quicker than you can say "loyalists."

While I wait for my wine, my mind wanders. Of course I supported the Academy, how else have Kenyan and Soren made it back after it was instituted after the 10th Hunger Games? But I wanted it to be a program like Two's, all about loyalty and bravery and protecting the innocent. Instead, the Academy has become a satire of everything One is. The prettiest children are enrolled in an Academy to learn how to either become Games fodder or prostitutes, and being in such an institution is apparently an achievement. That makes me laugh whenever I hear something alone the lines of it.

The crystalline goblet sloshing with dark red merlot is deposited by a scrap of a girl with dirty blonde hair who looks longingly at the dance floor. I hand her a dollar tip and tell her to get her head out of her ass and stop staring at the dance floor, because if she doesn't want to overdose within the next two months she _better_ not try to join one of those groups of slut gyrating on the dance floor. Oh, and I forgot to mention. Alcohol tears out the filter between my mind and mouth and throws it down the gutter, and it doesn't come back until I wake up the next morning with a nasty hangover. Hangovers. Another thing to hate about alcohol.

The girl looks at me like I'm insane. Of course she can't tell that I'm Esquiria Pasquale in the flashing lights and following bursts of darkness that the club exudes. She just thinks I'm some drunk old woman. She pockets the money and shuffles away, where she starts making a fruit martini. Her eyes quickly gravitate back to the dance floor, and I hiss, downing the rest of the chalice in under a minute.

Kids from One these days. Hmph.

* * *

 _Center of attention once again_

 _They don't understand_

 _They don't understand, no_

 _Then they try to tell me who I am_

 _But they don't understand_

 _They don't understand, no_

 _If you want_

 _A perfect picture to believe in_

 _Then you can't be looking for me then_

* * *

 ** _Scylas Ondino, 25_**

 ** _Resident of District 2_**

 ** _Victor of the 15th Annual Hunger Games_**

Words never work with the other Victors. Headmistress Anniston is a steel hearted beast of a woman, and she doesn't like talking. If she has something to say to you, she'll say it will kicking you ass in a sparring match. Brick is a great guy to hang out with, but he's a, well, a brick. His head is thick and he can't fathom concepts like pain, fear, and love. Clay is just overall quiet and unassuming, and when he rarely speaks, its usually something trivial, like "Pass the liquor, please?" And Lucia's still too new. She's the one that needs support, and she'll probably turn out more in the likes of Clay if the prodigious amounts of time she spends with him mean anything. I have had almost 7 years to work through my issues, but they're still there. They'll always be there.

I fasten the tie tighter around my neck. It's a garish mix of pink and lime green. Grecia, my stylist, told me in solemn tones around noon today that Madame Pruma Kettleloope's favorite colors were hot pink and lime green. Why, Grecia is never wrong. That's why there is unsightly streaks of lipstick across my neck and chest, in those two aforementioned colors. I don't touch myself, think about what just happened. It is lipstick. I will not think about how it got there. I will not think about when it got there. I will not think about where it is, where her nasty, plumped up lips touched-

Ah, damnit, I've already broken my first rule. After a "cordial visit" with a "happy sponsor" or "old friend" or "innocent client", I do not think about anything that happened in that room until I've drank a jug of cheap rum and am locked in my hotel room in the Capitol with a burning hot shower on full blast. Then I can deal with the problems in the soundproof room. I can break things, and scream, and slice open the tops of my arms and thrash on the ground and scrub off the thick layer of skin _they_ touched with hundreds of cleaning creams and gels in a sizzling, smoldering torrent of water.

I work through it in my head as I step into the elevator and press the ground floor level. I try to keep a straight face, trying not to cringe, trying not the twitch, as I think about the events of the past couple of days.

Grecia showed up at my house in the Victor's Village two days earlier with my outfit and an embossed, silvery card marked with the name of my client and her likes and dislikes, as well as looks and location in the Capitol. Sometimes, I get someone in the Districts, but that's rare. Grecia sits with me for the night; she's a kind enough woman and much more sensible than most of the Capitolites. She just loves fashion, she's not in it for the fame or anything like that. Or at least that's what she says. Sometimes I don't believe her.

Then, the next day, we do fittings and chat some more, and then she leaves me be to have the rest of my day till 6 to myself. I show up at the train station at 6 sharp. Grecia's always waiting for me, and sometimes Brick and Headmistress hitch a ride with us. The Capitol still raves over Brick's chiseled physique, and Headmistress usually is heading to the Capitol to talk matters of politics with Snow or get a new class in the Academy approved by the Council. But one day, I saw a silvery card peeking out of the back pocket of some strangely yellow jeans she was wearing, and she blushed and shuffled into another part of the train.

After riding the train to the Capitol, I settle down in my hotel and prepare for the night after, switching the shower settings to my preferences and ordering a jug of rum. Then I sleep, and in the morning I frolic around the Capitol, making public experiences and getting interviewed by the tabloids that infect the Capitol like outbreaks that plague the Districts. Then, at night, between 5 and midnight, I will head up to the special Victor's suite in the giant _Caupona_ hotel. Each of the 75 floors has a Victor's Suite. I'm always held on the 15th floor as some sort of cruel joke.

I notice that the _11_ button flickers to life as the elevator descends. The doors snap open once we reach the 11th Floor, and I prepare to deal with a fanatic Capitolite in bright robes and covered in a mountain of makeup. Instead, I am met by an even more dismaying sight.

* * *

 _After the war I thought we'd fight together_

 _I guess we thought that's just what humans do_

 _Letting darkness grow_

 _As if we need it's palette and we need it's color_

 _But now I've seen it through_

 _And now I know the truth_

 _That anything could happen_

* * *

 ** _Mags Flanagan, 28_**

 ** _Resident of District 4_**

 ** _Victor of the 11th Annual Hunger Games_**

Scylas Ondino and I share an uncertain look. His tie is tied too tight around his neck, and it is a disgusting mix of lime green and blazing pink. His suit is rumpled and creased, as is his hair, and his eyes look twenty years older than the rest of him. He's tall and strong, thick barrel arms and legs and a six pack pressing against the purposefully tight confines of his tuxedo. Here is the first boy, to only boy, the only _tribute_ , to ever score a 12. Here is the strongest Victor alive, and he is barely holding himself together as he stands alone in the brassy elevator.

I remain silent as I step into the elevator. We glance at each other as the elevator descends quickly to the ground floor. As it swoops downward, I manage to make my voice bubble out of the back of my throat.

"Scylas," I manage to warble out.

"Mags," he grumbles, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his right hand.

"R-rough night?"

"She wore lime green and pink lipstick," he hisses quietly, and I don't need to hear anything else. "You?"

"Normal." It is sad when normal is a 300 pound man whose skin is dyed tangerine and likes when I wear rompers like the baby blue one I am currently wearing. I've been with Claudius seventeen times over the past 11 years. I'm almost grateful when I get an old client like him. That means that there is less surprises, and less sickly curiosity and intrigue. I brush some invisible dust from my shoulder.

"Are you a Mentor next week?" Scylas peeps as the doors slide open.

"Yeah," I huff. "Oisin's too stubborn, and Waverley's still too inexperienced." I really do love Mentoring, but I am always pessimistic after my appointments. No one comes out of those hotel rooms all cheery and in tip-top shape. If you come out like that, then you're the Capitol that's just spent half their year's earnings to whittle away an intimate night with a Victor of your choice. "Are you Mentoring, Scy?"

"Uh-huh," he growls. "They switch between me, Headmistress, and Brick usually. Headmistress was Mentor last year, Brick the year before her. Lucia's too new to handle it all on her own, she'll probably just shadow me this year. And Clay isn't really a Career, you know, so yeah. He isn't really super effective."

The doors slide open, depositing us in the lobby. We walk side-by-side across the marble floored lobby and through the revolving glass doors. A squealing receptionist snaps a picture of us. That'll be hitting the tabloids soon. Around here, they've paired everyone imaginable that is a Victor. Why, they even accused Headmistress of cheating on her husband with _Uriah. Matherton._ That's just unbelievable.

We wander out onto the sidewalk, and stand there together. Our hotels are on opposite ends of the avenue. The balmy, humid late June air envelopes me like Waverley does whenever I'm having a flashback day, where I'm stuck back in the Games, stuck back with the screams.

"How are your tributes?" Scylas finally whispers.

"I have no clue."

"Agreed."

"We should look into that."

"We should."

Knowing the both of us, the first time we'll hear our tributes' names is when they're called on the stage.

Careers are always close. The common line of training and slaughtering and winning binds us like brothers and sisters under oath. I'm rather close with Scylas, but cold, empty air exists between us, contrasting the heat that the summer night exudes. It's awkward to be with someone after an appointment, nonetheless someone you know. The guilt, the shame, the disgust, it just starts registering about now.

We part wordlessly. Groups of Capitolites stagger past drunkenly liked preening peacocks, heading from club to club. They are loud and boisterous, those that keep their large stomachs bouncing, jiggling with bouts of giggles. Those that lay plastic under their skin and inject chemicals into their lips and cheeks attempt to smile with stiff, immovable faces at the banter. It disgusts me. They all disgust me.

After the rebellion, things were supposed to be different. Sure, the Capitol obliterated us in battle, but we only surrendered after it was clear that we would gain rights. Instead, the Capitol drafted the Treaty of Treason behind our back, tacked false rebel signatures on it, and ended the Dark Days. Our rights have been violated more than ever. Now, they slaughter 23 of our children each year, and the "lucky" 24th is prostituted and tortured endlessly. It's a terrible, mindless thing. The rebels made a mistake in respecting and trusting the Capitol.

You never trust anyone, especially the Capitol. I learned that the hard way. Now that's a story for another time.

* * *

 **A/N: Hello! I hope you liked the glimpses into the characters of our Career Mentors! Just to answer a question that some of you had, my SYOTs and 500 Years of Penance are in different universes, so their Victors only overlap with the canon Victors. We already have a whopping 18 submissions, and there is only no submissions for these 8 male slots: Districts 2, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, and 12! We need strong male characters, so please go submit! If we get all of the slots filled before November 4th with good characters, I will start the Games at that point, so if you still have to or want to submit, get your tribute(s) in sooner than later.**

 **Did you like Esquiria, Scylas, and Mags? Thoughts on their POVs and the writing/length of this chapter?**

 **Thanks for reading and submitting! Please review if you can. :) I will try and get out three more chapters like this about the 9 other Mentors before we start the Games. :)**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	4. Upper District Mentors

**Trigger warning: Excessive profanity, recreational drug use, etc. (Basically just skip Calla's POV if you don't want to read this sort of stuff xD)**

* * *

 _I tear my heart open_

 _I sew myself shut_

 _My weakness is_

 _That I care too much_

 _My scars remind us_

 _That the past is real_

 _I tear my heart open_

 _Just to feel_

* * *

 ** _Takami Wired, 22_**

 ** _Resident of District 3_**

 ** _Victor of the 16th Annual Hunger Games_**

I make my daily pilgrimage without a thought. The dreary clouds cling to the corners of the slate gray, blurry sky. My lungs have long become accustomed to the smoke and smog that pour from the rows of technology factories that dominate the skyline of Three like the pure mountain vistas in Two or the orange rock spires in Five. Newcomers, like our Escort, Luizy, also hack and cough, eyes watering and tongues drying up in their mouths. Pollutants run rampant through the District whenever it rains and subsequently floods. Starvation is common, and hunger is an ever present feeling for most. Eighty percent of our population work in the unsafe, rickety factories, producing advanced technology. 2% of the others work in schooling and other usual jobs, and 1% work in the high-up designer jobs that pay actually good money. The rest are unemployed, probably homeless, or children. Our people are skinny and pale and weak and break like twigs underneath the boots of Careers and tributes from stronger Districts like 5, 7, and 11. No wonder it took Three sixteen years to get a Victor.

The basket tucked under my left arm steams with the heat and scent of freshly baked goods. I wake up at six in the morning to bake them. It's my hobby, and I have to craft pastries for Snow and Council members almost monthly to show that I am obedient or something along those lines. A mile walk from the Victor's Village, where only I live, to the city center. Everyone else is spread out in thin patches on the fringes of the District, where they mine metal and other things for the technology and machines. Tributes almost never get Reaped from those outer villages. Only I and a girl from the 4th Hunger Games, Ticha Modim, have ever lived in those small towns and entered the Games. Ticha died in the Bloodbath of her Games, and I won. Conflicting statistics, no? Everyone else lives in the giant, sprawling city that makes up the center of Three. That makes my job easier.

Every day I have 6 families to visit, excepting Mondays and Tuesdays. On Mondays, I visit my older sister Suzuki in the designing parlors in the center of the city along with delivering food to five other families. On Tuesdays, I visit a family that had two tributes in the Games. Today is a Tuesday. I pull out my list. Ticha Modim is at the top of the list. I have already mailed seven small sugary cakes to her family; one for her mother, one for her father, one for her grandmother, and one each for her three sisters and brother. Ticha's family is poor, so I make sure to pack as my calories as possible into those little cakes. Some families, like the family of my second stop, do not really need the nourishment of these steaming treats.

I check off the name _Kieran Lan: 18th Hunger Games_ on my list as I approach the large two floor house nestled on the quasi-suburban outskirts of the giant city simply called Three by everyone and anyone. It's official name is surely something intelligent and wise and proud, but everyone just calls this area Three.

I knock on the bright red door, and it squeals open. A woman in her forties, Mrs. Lan, opens the door with a light smile.

"A couple of minutes early, Takami," she says with a wry grin. I chuckle as I open up my wooden picnic basket. Mrs. Lan is dressed in a pretty, expensive, lacy red dress with a pearl necklace. Mr. Lan is one of the head supervisors of a factory, so they have good money in their household. I draw out two small brownies with caramel drizzled across the top. Mrs. Lan smiles gratefully, takes them from me, and then I bid her farewell. Poor woman. Her husband is always away, and her son, one of my charges as a Mentor, was slaughtered by the girl from 1 on the first night of the 18th Hunger Games when he was 16 years old.

My next stop is at a small, cramped apartment about a half mile deeper into the city. I check off _Gates Mirame: 20th Hunger Games_ as Mr. Lester Mirame hauls open the door. The man is thin and tall, lanky, really. The chatter of eight children ages 4 to 17 meet my ears, and it all ceases when they spot who is at the door.

"Mr. Wired's here!" Lester calls, and all of the kids scamper over. They are all skinny and taller, like their father. Their mother died in a factory accident months after giving birth to little Galaxy, and their brother, Gates, died two years ago at age 18. He lasted until the Top 8, but died 5th after an electrical trap he was fashioning backfired and electrocuted him while he was building it. Gates was the closest I ever got to having a fellow Victor yet. I pull out a giant container with a small strawberry cupcake for each of the kids, a slice of carrot cake for Mr. Mirame, and two loaves of sourdough bread to hold them over for a couple of days. Mr. Mirame just grins thankfully at me as the kids start eating their snacks. The oldest now, a girl called Sam, gives me a look of gratitude that makes me so happy I get up at the crack of dawn to bake these foods.

My third stop in the city is near the tightly packed little apartment the Mirame's call home. I knock on the painted gray door, and it doesn't open for about twenty seconds. I'm just about to leave, getting the two cinnamon buns out to place on the doorstep, when the doors creaks open.

A ghost of a woman stands there, her hair frizzed and uncombed, bags under her eyes. 12 years ago she lost everything she ever had. My eyes glance down at the two names I have checked off: _Catherine & Cameron Spark._

"Hello, Takami," Mrs. Spark says in a quiet, worn out voice. She opens the door wider, and I step into the apartment. Everyone in Three knows that tragic story of the Spark Twins. Two young 12 year old children, twins, were Reaped. Their names were Catherine and Cameron Spark. It was a cruel twist of fate, one of the most sadistic things to happen in Hunger Games history, and that is saying something. Catherine managed to stay upbeat and score a 7 in training, the same as me. Cameron scored a 5, still good for a child his age, especially out of Three. Cameron died just before the Top 12 after drinking poisoned water, and Catherine place 7th after she slaughtered an ex-ally in the bloodiest kill ever made by a tribute 14 years or younger. She had a meltdown and attracted the attentions of the two remaining Careers, the boy from One and the girl from Two. The boy from One did her in.

Mrs. Spark and Mr. Spark still have not recovered from their loss. Their apartment is trashed, dirty, dusty, uncleanly. They're thin from not eating just because they're too tired to get up and buy food. Mr. Spark, the more depressed of the two, stopped working soon after the end of the 10th Hunger Games. Mrs. Spark is the breadwinner, working part time at a nearby grocery store to make enough money to feed, clothe, and house the two of them. A dozen years later, and whenever anyone sees them out and about, they pay their respects. The graves of Catherine and Cameron Spark, in the Tribute Park in the central square of the city, are the most visited of the 41 graves. They're some of the most memorable tributes ever out of Three.

Mr. Spark is sleeping on the couch, and we let him be. Mrs. Spark produces a mug of tea, and pours me a cup. I nurse it as she nibbles away at her cinnamon bun thoughtful. We sit there quietly, sometimes chatting, most of the time just sitting and thinking. After a half hour, my cup's drained. I hug Mrs. Spark, wave to Mr. Spark, who is waking up, and depart from the apartment.

My final person to visit lives in an old, empty, rusted Dumpster in a darkened back alley. It always takes me an hour to get the right alley, and I've almost gotten mugged for waking up the wrong female Dumpster dweller. As I approach the Dumpster, I squint through the shadows, my hands shaking as I check off the name _Elodie Sprocket: 16th Hunger Games._

I look into the Dumpster, rapping lightly on the side of the metal container. Emma Sprocket, small and skeletally thin, pops up slowly. Her face is contorted in pain, and I pull her out of the Dumpster. The 22 year old girl weighs less than 90 pounds. One of the only times she eats is when I visit her. Sometimes I think I should visit her twice a week, but I never do. It hurts to be reminded of your District partner once a week, not to mention twice or thrice. Selfish, I know.

The picnic basket falls to the ground, the large piece of chocolate cake inside splattering onto the dirty ground as I stare at this girl in my arms. Her side is inflamed, a huge cut running up and down its length. She hisses when I touch it.

"Gangs suck in Three. They never go in for the kill," Emma chokes out. I hush her and carry her all the way back to my house in the Victor's Village.

Once we get there, I pull out the first aid and scramble to action, asking her questions (what weapon did this to you? how many days ago? who did this!?). I clean the wound as she swears, cussing out every word in the book. Then I bandage it up, and sit her on the counter of my kitchen table and look into her dark brown, near black, eyes. She stares back passively, her eyes thundering with some hidden emotion.

"Why do you care so much, Takami?"

"I could never save her."

"No fucking dip, Takami! She was a frail 14 year old girl! You couldn't save her! _No one could save her!_ Get the hell over it!"

"It doesn't work that way, Emma."

"I'm going."

"Stay a while, won't you? The Dumpster won't miss you for a night."

"Homeless people like sleeping in Dumpsters."

"Then you can stay a bit longer until you find a new Dumpster."

"Goodbye, Takami."

"Just stay, alright?"

"Okay."

That was five months ago. Now Emma weighs 110 pounds, is healthy, and bakes with me. She delivers the food with me, and sometimes I find myself wondering about her and I. Love is no good in a place like Panem.

* * *

 _I think you hide_

 _When all the world's tired and asleep_

 _You cry a little, so do I, so do I_

 _I think you hide_

 _And you don't have to tell me why_

 _You cry a little, so do I, so do I_

* * *

 ** _Anneliese Petrova, 28_**

 ** _Resident of District 5_**

 ** _Victor of the 12th Annual Hunger Games_**

The knitting needles clack together rhythmically as my eyes glance back and forth between my handiwork and the elaborate example I've painstakingly sketched out on a large piece of paper. Balls of yarn, in a myriad of colors and textures, fill up a large wooden basket at my feet, overflowing onto the cool hardwood floors of my Victor's Village house's living room. _Clack, clack, clack. Thump, thump, thump._ As long as the needles move, my heart keeps moving, too.

My latest piece is a couple of months overdue. The three fourths that are finished pour out of my lap, pooling in a soft rainbow puddle of yarn. _Clack, clack, clack, clack, clack._ Minute by minute, my yarn mural grows and grows. This is how I whittle away my time. _Clack, clack, clack. Thump, thump, thump._

My eyes dart to the third last person I have to create with the yarn. He's a monster of a boy, the behemoth from 7 last year that tore through the arena like wildfire and took down the girls from 4 and 12 and the boy from 6 before he was subdued in the Final 3 by the pair from 2, Lucia and Bastian. His skin is muddy brown, and he is bald, his white grin frightening and attractive at the same time. Over the course of the hour, this boy, named Adom, takes shape as my needles clack and my heart thumps and yarn pools on the floor at my feet.

I guess I'd better explain my project. I knit a yarn mural of sorts of every Hunger Games ever. It started as therapy to work out the memories of my last Games. My Capitol therapist suggested drawing a picture of the things I didn't want to remember, and then burn them and let them go. Arbitrary, yes, destructive, yes, helpful, maybe, but I followed his advice. I was three months out of the arena, and the memories of the blistering sand and the stampeding camel mutts were still fresh in my mind, so I followed him blindly. I had always liked knitting, so I spent three months knitting every event to happen in my Games as I knew it. The giant piece of artwork sold for nearly a million on auction in the Capitol after my Mentor discovered it. I started the trend of Victor hobbies, which are now starting to seem almost mandatory for the newest Victors like Lucia. Nowadays, when I knit a Games, I go slower and knit the arena, then the tributes and what they looked like at the time of their cannons, and then the Victor. Yes, Adom was grinning like that. He was a strange specimen.

I knit in the bleeding red hole in Adom's chest, courtesy of Bastian's spear going in the front and Lucia's sword going in the back. Then there are the two beauties, the two that everyone knew would sail to the end. Bastian and Lucia come to life underneath my needles as the sun begins to set.

I work through the night and early into the morning, and my eyes are drooping as I finish off Lucia. In the next couple of days, I will have to refine the artwork, add details, things like that, but for now, I will take a break. I stagger off to my room, where I collapse in a tired heap on my bed.

 _I wonder who I will be stitching this year_ I think to myself as sleep quickly takes me and pulls me under.

* * *

 _Are you high enough without the Mary Jane like me?_

 _Do you tear yourself apart to entertain like me?_

 _Do the people whisper 'bout you on the train like me?_

 _Saying that you shouldn't waste your pretty face like me?_

* * *

 ** _Calla Espenson, 31_**

 ** _Resident of District 6_**

 ** _Victor of the 9th Annual Hunger Games_**

"Pass the joint, won't you?" I croak with a lilt to my voice. My childhood friend Robbie passes me the weed, and I take a long draw. I let it go with a long, hard push, letting it explode from my lips. I always love watching the smoke dance and intermingle with the polluted, smoggy air before it fades or floats away. It's always so ethereal, so distracting, something I need on days like today.

I don't often get high off my ass. Well, that's a lie. I get higher than the clouds every other day, but still. I'm usually a real hardass, so enjoy me while you have me in that stage between hardass and so-high-I-can't-touch-the-ground-and-wow-can-someone-walk-me-home-before-I-kill-myself-stupidly-or-set-something-on-fire. So yeah. This doesn't last long. Enjoy!

I took another puff than handed the joint to the third person in our little circle, my maid, Carrey. She's a nice girl, only 16. How sweet. She's also an alcoholic, but who am I to judge? If you don't have your first drink by age 12 in Six, you're goddamn weird as hell. I had my first drink, a bottle of crummy, watery beer, when I was nine. Normal. Yeah, that's about how fucked up Six is. We give our kids alcohol by age 12, and they're all addicts by the time they're past Reaping age.

Carrey takes a quick draw then passes it hurriedly to Robbie before standing, grabbing her coat and purse, and shuffling towards the door.

"Bye guys, gotta go see my mom in the ward." Carrey's mom overdosed a couple of days ago. I'm not making this crap up to lead to some "Wow, I should stop doing drugs. They're so bad!" emotional moment. Drugs are drugs. There _is_ a reason why hundreds of people choose to take them and die each year instead of dealing with their problems. Because drugs fuckin' _rock._

Now it's just me and Robbie, and soon we find ourselves slung over one another on one of the couches in the living room, taking turns between taking a sip of vodka from the bottle and taking a puff from the joint. Soon I just put out the joint on the arm of the couch and then start guzzling vodka. I'm getting close to the so-high-I-can't-touch-the-ground-and-wow-can-someone-walk-me-home-before-I-kill-myself-stupidly-or-set-something-on-fire stage in my highness, my drunkenness, so Robbie needs to get the hell off of me before I do something I regret.

"You look so hot today," I slur. I guess it's too late for that.

"You always look hot," he mumbles back, giggling. He's as high as a kite. He rolls off of me and just sits there, commenting on the colorful pinwheels spinning on the ceiling. Oh, thank God. I thought we were about to have sex there for a moment, or at the very least have a hardcore makeout sessions. Robbie _is_ hot and I've liked him since we were little, but my emotions don't work very well. Neither do my words. The only things that work are my sarcasm and my rockin' bod. That's all Robbie needs, but I don't want to ruin what I have with him, especially not by having a dirty one night stand while we're both drunk and high, where we won't even remember half of it and just end up waking up next to each other, hung over and pissed as hell.

I finally make the executive decision to refill the vodka bottle with water. Robbie's so high that he doesn't notice that he's glugging tap water instead of pricey vodka. I'm sobering up already. I've really built a tolerance to alcohol and weed over the past thirteen years. Ah, damn, my life's a train wreck, isn't it?

I cook myself up a mixture of juice and vegetables and salt that always sobers me up super quick. Then I set Robbie down for bed, and head up to my room. The sun's already set, surprisingly. Carrey left at around noon. Maybe we drank for longer than I thought...

All I know is that I need to get my shit together. I hate it, but my life is a total shitheap. I survived the effing HUNGER GAMES for God's sake, and I probably won't survive the next year if I don't stop drinking so goddamn much.

Ah, well, now I'm starting to think of my Games, of killing Garry Manchas, of slaughtering the little girl from 10, of killing the lanky boy from 7, of killing the singing girl from 5. Yeah, I'm done. I'm gonna go grab a beer. Maybe I'll stay sober tomorrow.

* * *

 **A/N: We have all the slots filled! I'm going to keep submissions open a bit longer, but I want to start tribute POVs as soon as I get the last three Mentors out, and that should be by the weekend, so I probably will have chosen all of my tributes by Saturday/Sunday and told you who they are. So, if you still want to submit, you'll want to get your tributes in ASAP.**

 **Did you like Takami, Anneliese, and Calla? Sorry for Calla, but she _is_ a Victor from Six. She's actually probably the healthiest Victor from Six since she's not one of the Morphlings xD How was the writing?**

 **Thanks for reading! :)**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	5. Middle District Mentors

_You walk the easy way, I work every night_

 _You sell your soul for fame, I stand for my rights_

 _You think that I'm insane, I'll never play your game_

* * *

 ** _Oakes Laine, 36_**

 ** _Resident of District 7_**

 ** _Victor of the 4th Annual Hunger Games_**

I walk alone through the windswept residential street. The streetlights, black iron, hook over the road, their bulbs turned off since it is the middle of the day. Torrents of colorful autumn leaves and tough acorns rain down onto the street whenever the wind gusts through the trees that are interspersed between the imposing streetlights. The wind ruffles my hair, and I find the scrape of leaves against cement and the soft _pitter patter_ of falling acorns comforting. I pull the sagging bag I have hitched over my right shoulder back higher onto my shoulder so it doesn't slip off. Its contents aren't fit to be seen on a residential street like this, with richer families all watching as I stumble towards the residence of the Tayn's.

The house is three stories, gray and dark brown in color, made of stone with bits of brick and wood here and there. The roof is aluminum painted dark green. They have an expansive plot of land, inherited from their ancestors, who owned it before the Dark Days, before even Panem's inception, before the flooding times, where the oceans swallowed up half of the world. The four acres they have are crowded with forest and little buildings where their three children and their friends frolic.

I walk up the steps and knock thrice on the door. When there's no answer, I open the unlocked door. Knocking is a formality here. After all, "Mrs. Tayn", Sequoyah Laine in my book, is my sister, older by two years. Those kids playing out back are my nieces and nephews. My bag is filled with things for them.

Sequoyah is kneading dough in the kitchen when I walk in. My brother-in-law, Sequoyah's husband Mac, is looking over the bills with a perplexed look on his face. Mac is a great dude, but mathematics are not his forte. Sequoyah looks up when I set down my bag with a clang and a bam on the granite kitchen counter. She grins at me and runs over to embrace me. I hug her back, and when we part flour coats me. I wipe it off as she sniggers.

"Thanks for coming, O," she says with a wry grin.

"I always come, Seq. Every Wednesday and Sunday. You don't have to thank me every time, sis. I'd do it even if you didn't approve of what I was doing."

"I know, O. I know."

Mac waves at me hurriedly before turning back to his bills, chewing his bottom lip contemplatively. It's a Sunday, so both he and Sequoyah are home. Mac is a manager of a paper mill, and Seq works at the town's bakery. We all live in the suburban town of Elmboro. It's an hour's drive from the heart of the District/its capital, Ashburgh. The Victor's Village is located on the outskirts of Ashburgh, where Paula, my fellow Victor from Seven, and I live. I make the hour drive every Wednesday and Sunday not only to visit my only sibling and her family, but also to teach them.

I walk out the back door, Seq walking out with me. I set down my bag on the patio, making sure to keep the contents from spilling out.

"UNCLE OAKES IS HERE, KIDS!" Seq hollers at the top of her lungs. Almost immediately three kids come bounding out of the treeline, sprinting across the lawn and clustering at me feet, grinning and excited. They love these days despite their purposes.

"Hey, Uncle Oakes," little Margot peeps, smiling gleefully. She's the youngest, at 8. Her brother, Mac Jr., is 11, and her sister, Francine, is 14. They all have Mac's straw blonde hair, but Seq and I's bronze-y skin tone and dark brown, almond shaped eyes. Francine and Margot are thinly muscled and tall like Seq, while Mac Jr. is barrel chested and very muscly for his age, if average height. He looks like a miniature version of the extremely buff Mac Sr.

"Hey, guys," I say with a thin smile. "Ready to train?"

Since Francine was 7, Seq's been having me train her kids. She was and still is scared to death that one of them will get Reaped just because I was a bit rebellious in my Games, so she employed me to prepare them physically and mentally. On Wednesdays, we do survival, working on edible plants, how to make a fire, how to build a shelter, how to find water, and how to make a trap, along with learning every arena there ever was and learning each Victor.

On Sundays we practice with strength, and with weapons.

I pick up my big black duffel bag again, and Seq waves as I lead the kids into the woods. We walk into the forest for about half an acre before reach the small shanty hut that we use as our makeshift training center. Targets are painted with red paint around the sides of the house, and inside there are targets that we can move around outside along with two weapons I can't bring back and forth from the Village; a large, barbed spear, and a razor sharp machete.

As we walk through the woods, I quiz the kids on statistics from previous Games. They know it all by heart.

"Margot, Victor of the 13th Hunger Games?"

"Kenyan Rudd, District 1, age 18 at time of Victory, made 5 kills."

"Good. Francine, who placed last in the 10th Hunger Games?"

"Bison Seville, District 10 Male, age 13."

"Nice. Mac, Bison's killer?"

"Natalia General, District 1 Female, age 15."

"And Francine, her killer?"

"Hailea Himalayan, District 11 Female, only age 12."

"Design of that Game's arena, Mac?"

"Jungle island, with beaches and an abandoned hotel."

I'm about to ask them who the Victor of those Games was, but we've reached the outpost. I unzip the bag, and pull out the weapons inside. Three hatchets, an axe, two daggers, two throwing knives, a shuriken, and an awl. I give Margot the awl; she's too young for anything else. Mac gravitates towards a hatchet as always, and Francine selects the throwing knives, which she's very adept with.

The next four hours are devoted to training them in the art of weaponry and killing. Over the years I've learned the tricks of the trade from Career Mentors, along with books from the Capitol, one of which was written by the Headmistress. Francine is better at throwing knives than most Careers at only 14, and all of the kids are in the top 1% in muscle mass, speed, agility, and intelligence in the District. It would be hard to take them down if they were ever to be Reaped, and I make sure to instill in them not to volunteer because they are strong enough to survive. They listen dutifully. I don't think Margot quite yet understands, but Mac Jr. and Francine understand the blood and the gore and the horror. I'm happy about that.

As we pack up and head back to the house, I smile as the kids run ahead of me. If only we could do this for every kid in Seven.

Then again, Seven has never been a Career District. We have honor, integrity, morals. We would never become a Career District no matter how many little kids are shipped off to their deaths. We could never condone training all of our kids to kill like they do in One, Two, and Four, and sometimes in Three and Five. We always produce hearty tributes. Two examples that always fill my head: Adom from the previous year, and the infamous loverbirds, Chen Evoncurst and Bethany Taylor, who made a statement by openly showing their fledgling love during their Games. Of course, Bethany was eaten by a giant serpent and Chen was slaughtered by the maniac boy from One, but still. That's beside the point.

Seven is different. Seven is strong.

* * *

 _If you try the best you can_

 _If you try the best you can_

 _The best you can is good enough_

 _This one's optimistic_

 _This one went to market_

 _This one just came out of the swamp_

 _This one dropped a payload_

 _Fodder for the animals_

 _Living on animal farm_

* * *

 ** _Woof Parsons, 21_**

 ** _District 8 Resident_**

 ** _Victor of the 17th Annual Hunger Games_**

You would think that Eight was a phenomenal District, correct? How else would we be the only District in the Lower 6 Districts to have more than 1 Victor? How else would we happen to place in the Top 8 quite frequently? How else would we meet our every quota, and have one of the lowest crime rates in Panem?

Luck, and discipline.

Our Victors are two men. Uriah Matherton, the Victor of the 2nd Hunger Games, and myself, Woof Parsons, Victor of the 17th Hunger Games. Uriah won by eating bugs and hiding in a tree, and I won using rudimentary snares knowledge I learned in the Capitol and perfected within the arena. Neither of us is extraordinary. If anything, we're among the most normal Victors, in the same boat as Pumpkin and Anneliese, who are really just very normal and got decently lucky enough to emerge Victor. Luck really is the only reason Eight does not have a Capitol Mentor like Twelve.

We do produce a strange amount of stronger, smarter, older tributes than most Districts, so that's luck based. That, coupled with the fact that Eight tributes are very observant from working in the factories and studying tiny threads while doing so, make it easier for any Eight tribute to persevere in almost any arena. But we also have crummy air, crummy food, crummy water, crummy homes, crummy everything, and we're one of the most urban Districts in Panem, just behind Three and Six and just in front of Nine. Really, luck, and the discipline of our tributes who want to uphold our tradition of high placements, are the only thing that give our tributes high placements in the Games. For example, in the 10th Hunger Games, we got a bit lucky you could say. (I was 9 when the 10th Hunger Games aired. It's the first Games I remember in detail.) Our male scored a 5, and the female, Holly, scored a 6, nothing special. The boy went down in the Bloodbath, but the girl lasted all the way till the Feast, where she placed 5th, being cut down by the boy from Seven, one of the infamous loverbirds of the 10th Games. See? Eight is truly lucky.

We meet our every quota because Eight was one of the most rebellious and, in turn, most bombarded Districts during the Dark Days. Our populace is scared stiff of the Capitol after the war, and they comply with everything the Capitol tells us to do. That's also why we have a lower crime rate than most Districts, and why we have the lowest crime rate in the Lower 6 Districts (Seven thru Twelve).

Right now, Uriah and I are playing chess. Uriah's a very strange boy. He won at 15. He was a normal kid, skinny and weak and nerdy, smart, but not abnormally so. He always loved chess, and learning ancient languages. For example, he likes to call chess _el ajedrez,_ which means chess in an ancient language called Spanish. The Capitol is gracious enough to let him use books to learn how to speak dead languages since he's claimed that, and chess, to be his talents.

Uriah moves his rook and easily takes out my bishop. I curse, and Uriah just huffs, rolling his eyes.

"You really don't have to play, Woof."

"I want to beat you."

" _Woof._ "

"I will beat you someday, Uriah Matherton!"

So yeah. We're your typical nerds. Eight is typical. Everything is typical with us. Nothing special here. Just keep moving on.

"Did Laura send you the coordinates of the next rebel meeting?" Uriah murmurs as he takes out one of my pawns.

Oh yeah. One thing that's not luck, not discipline: we're also the most rebellious District in Panem. So maybe everything I've said is false. Maybe we do train our kids. Maybe Uriah and I are skilled. Maybe we're just complacent so they'll never see underneath our act and realize that we're still conspiring against them.

Or maybe we're just District 8, the run of the mill. You decide.

* * *

 _You've got me chasing promises on the horizon_

 _They come and go_

 _All these visions come and go_

 _And I keep chasing knowing I will never find them_

 _Visions come and go_

 _Visions come and go_

* * *

 _ **Unity Carden, 40**_

 _ **Resident of District 9**_

 _ **Victor of the 1st Annual Hunger Games**_

District Nine is not a superpower. I'll just start off by saying that. But you probably already know that. Our reputation isn't necessarily gold.

The setting sun drizzles its golden hues across my deep, dark brown skin, little rainbows arcing across my knees from where the light streams through the windows. I sit in my rickety wooden rocking chair in my rickety Victor's Village house in my rickety Victor's Village in my rickety District.

I had them build the Victor's Village by my tiny farming village of Flourbrooke. District Nine's layout is rather unique, I guess you could say. It's the third largest District, just behind Eleven and Seven in size. There are four main cities, called the Ports, where bread and flour is created and processed. Ninety percent of the population lives there, and everyone there is usually weak and sickly. The other ten percent of us live in the small little farming villages, where we collect the wheat, and are grown tall and strong and are all dark skinned and have integrity. Rarely is a tribute Reaped from the farming villages. Two tributes are selected from each farming village to be sent to the biggest Port city, Flax, and then four hundred kids from each Port city head over to Flax. These Reapings are called Preliminary Reapings, and they're used in Districts Three, Seven, Ten, and Eleven as well where portions of the population are spread out in small villages or ranches outside of the main cities. Most of the kids Reaped are Port city kids, and those that are rounded up in the Ports are usually orphans between ages 12 and 15. That's why District Nine is usually Bloodbath fodder these days, and is why we don't have an Academy like other Districts who got Victors early, like One, Two, and Four. Just imagine, a pair of Careers from Nine. Unsettling but intriguing at the same time.

As the sun continues to dip below the horizon, I head out to my garden. I live alone. My family used to live here, but after my father died ten years ago from cancer, my two sisters Undula and Ursula, who were both getting married, moved back to Flourbrooke. They visit with their families every week or so, and I go into town every week, but it's still not the same. The Village is deserted, empty. All I have is myself and my plants.

I first attend to the herbs. Oregano, basil, rosemary, thyme, so much more. Ironically, I've had a tribute by all four of those names. Oregano Prax, 6th Games. Basil Chock, 12th Games. Rosemary Caldrun, 8th Games. Thyme Hither, 20th Games. They all died in the Bloodbath of their respective Games, too.

After I water my herbs and look over my vegetable garden, the sun's nearly gone. I take out my flashlight and then tromp over to the other important site that is situated outside of Flourbrooke upon my insistence. I walk under the small stone arch proclaiming _TRIBUTE GRAVEYARD OF NINE._

I start at the first stone, where I would have laid had I died. It is inscribed with the words _Unity Carden, Victor._ The next stone holds the name of my faithful District partner and partial ally.

"Ferdinand Crovin," I whisper. In my hands I hold a basket with 41 flowers, an assortment of wild daisies and geraniums, inside it. I place the biggest geranium on his grave, pushing off the withering one from yesterday. Then I lay a flower on every grave, uttering every name.

"Alexa Blaise. Jonathan Tumbler. Greta Pretis. Wheaton Crawley. Ginamarie Holden. Braxton Cuthbert. Demi Claren. Patrick Chaff. Charta Opan. Oregano Prax. Anna Chase. Oswald Grothe. Rosemary Caldrun. Seed Tunton. Tanya Lieber. Darrick Blusum. Andrea Matches. Calix Jackson. Erika Commodore. Charles Burntay. Keera Mallerd. Basil Chock. Drusilla Leans. Dion Smithereens. Haley Montigne. Aric Svena. Ida Pastursz. Rudolph Flaxe. Quinta Goldhaze. Dennon Uri. Lea Blackstone. Ronan Gretsky. Yaroslava Cumberland. Michael Patterson. Rinna Malt. Gregory Patch. Janelle Kirpatrick. Thyme Hither. Lorana Mitchells. Cedric Lankes."

Two new, blank stones have already been placed, awaiting the next two tributes that will die. I always hold onto that slim chance that one of them will come back, but that never happens. 20 Games I have Mentored. Never have I gotten a tribute to place higher than 6th. Never have I brought a tribute home. Never have I brought someone home that could help me work through my depression and anxiety. Never have I ever brought home anyone to live with me, to love me, that understands me. I've failed in my mission. I will not die, however, until I bring at least _one_ back. Once I bring just one back, I can rest in peace, in retirement. Until then, I will sit and garden and Mentor and lay flowers on graves, because that is what Unity Carden does. When I was young, I was rebellious, high off of adrenaline from fighting in the rebellion for the rebels. It's a miracle the Capitol let me win. When I was young, I was naive and athletic and excitable. Now I'm an aging woman, only forty, who feels like she's two hundred and waiting for her replacement so she can be released into death.

I walk back home to the Village to wait until the next Reaping, until the next death sentence, because that is what Unity Carden now does.

* * *

 **A/N: Hello! I hope you enjoyed Oakes, Woof, and Unity! (Unity's a personal favorite, I just haven't had time to explore her how I would like yet.)**

 **I have figured out what I am going to do. Instead of shutting off all submissions right away, I will shut it down District by District. Once I finish the Lower District Mentors next chapter, I will pick my tributes for One and close submissions for District One. Then I will post their Reaping/Introduction, and then I will shut off submissions for Two after choosing my tributes, post introductions for Two, and then do the same thing for Three, and then for Four, and so on and so forth.**

 **Did you like Oakes, Woof, and Unity? Thoughts on POVs/writing?**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	6. Lower District Mentors

_shown in the way that i was or the way that i am_

 _left to the people that care or the people that can_

 _dead in my bed and you hear me starting to scream_

 _her on the side of my room oh what does it mean?_

 _i, i will live in my head_

 _and she, she will sleep in my bed_

 _because i, i will walk to the park_

 _because i, i'm afraid of the dark_

* * *

 ** _Oxen Bamby, 20_**

 ** _Resident of District 10_**

 ** _Victor of the 20th Annual Hunger Games_**

 _The metal beneath me slowly rises. My Capitol Mentor, a woman with lime green hair named Erlita, waves at me, her bejeweled incisors glinting in the florescent lights of the launch room. Her body swirls, distorted by the warped glass of the tube, as I ascend and she disappears beneath me._

 _I think that I am still heading up the tube when the plate beneath me comes to a stop. It's pitch black, not a thing to be seen. I keep calm, taking deep breaths. Is the tube stuck? Things don't malfunction like this in the Hunger Games._

 _A girl wails, and then there's an explosion right next to me. Hot, sticky gore smashes into the right side of my body, drenching me in a thin layer of blood, chunks of flesh tangled in my hair. I manage to not throw up, but I hear the boy who had been on the other side of this girl regurgitate his breakfast. Moments later he's blown sky high as well, his bile setting off the explosives at the base of the platform._

 _Everything falls silent after those two explosions, and the only light source is the full moon overhead and the silvery, holographic countdown that makes the silvery Cornucopia shine with an ethereal light. The seconds are whittled away, and when the last one's gone. The gong rings, and I sprint forward._

 _I crash into someone, a younger boy. The light of the moon glints off of his glasses. The 13 year old from Five. I toss him to the ground and keep running forward as a girl screams nearby as the crunch of bone and a manic cackle is heard. I run into the Cornucopia, lock my hands around a flashlight, and shine it on the Horn's contents. What will there be to help me survive here?_

 _The only things inside the Cornucopia are blunt maces. We'll have to bash each other's brains out. Swell._

I wake up groaning, the sheets tangled and soiled yet again. This happens every night. Sometimes its the finale, me bashing in the head of the little girl from Six who had just hid the entire time. Sometimes its me massacring the Career pack at midnight, killing the pair from One and the boy from Two while they slept, leaving only the boy from Four left alive (the girls from Two and Four had died earlier.) But usually it is the Bloodbath, disappearing up the tube into the pitch black arena, being rained on by the guts of the girl from Seven and the boy from Twelve. My nightmares are all the same. They're of me killing, of feeling blood running between my fingers and down my throat. I never ate anyone, but I sure as hell probably ate some dried blood, for I was always drenched in it.

It's only four A.M.; I went to bed at midnight. It's more sleep than I usually get, so I'm fine with it. I step into the bathroom. The lights are on, just like the lights are on in every room of the house. The dark scares me. The dark is a monster. The dark kills. The dark made me murder ten tributes in my Games. The dark made me do everything. _The dark is evil._ No one understands that.

I step into the shower, turning on a light over the shower to chase away the shadows caused by the shower curtain. It's not a fancy shower from the Capitol, just a normal one, but I have a good supply of hot water since I'm a Victor. I turn on the shower and drown myself in the smoldering hot water for a half hour until I'm falling asleep. Then, wet and drowsy once again, I stagger back to bed, falling asleep on the sweaty sheets.

 _The boy from Four is playing guard, marching around the Cornucopia clearing, mace in hand. He's sixteen, his arms not strong enough to use the mace to great effect like I can. He follows the pedestals in his march, walking around their outside. The simple act of screaming in a high pitched voice sends the boy from Four reeling towards the dark, horror filled forest that surrounds the Cornucopia clearing. He's high on adrenaline, and the last time the Careers went hunting was two and a half days ago, if my estimations of time are correct._

 _It's all too easy to traipse over to the unguarded Horn. I find myself standing over Chanel, over Rubio, over Marcus. All three of them scored 9s, and all three of them are threats. That boy from 4, Turc, scored a 7. The only reason they let him stay in the alliance is so they had an expendable scout. Turc won't be a problem to hunt down. Now these three, I need to take them out. For example, I need to take them out_ now.

 _I take out Marcus first, one smash of my mace crumpling his head and killing him. Chanel and Rubio begin to awaken. Rubio's wounded in the leg from a run in with some of the crazed, rabid wolf mutts that prowl the horror forest, so I bludgeon Chanel to death. Her cannon rings as Rubio wakes up and manages to grab his mace. But he's on the ground, and I'm above him. He sleepily tries to hit into my shoulder, but I knock the mace from his hands easily, breaking some of his fingers, too. He howls, and three more blows to the chest, two to the neck, and Rubio is also dead._

 _Turc stands at the edge of the clearing, having come back from his wild goose chase. He has on night vision goggles like I do, and he sees his three slain allies and then me, holding my bloody mace, a wicked grin splitting my face in two. He turns and sprints off without a second thought, and I grin. Now I have the Horn, and the safest area of the arena, its Field, all to myself._

I wake up again, screaming out loud this time. I crawl out of the sweat soaked sheets, creeping through the fully lit bedroom to open the door to the fully lit bathroom. I climb into the shower and turn it up all the way to its hottest setting, and I soak in it until I'm ready to fall asleep. It's a process, you see? Everything has to be a process. The darkness took spontaneity away from my life, along with everything else. The darkness can never be allowed to touch me again.

* * *

 _When you try your best, but you don't succeed_

 _When you get what you want, but not what you need_

 _When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep_

 _Stuck in reverse_

 _And the tears come streaming down your face_

 _When you lose something you can't replace_

 _When you love someone, but it goes to waste_

 _Could it be worse?_

* * *

 ** _Pumpkin Little, 31_**

 ** _Resident of District 11_**

 ** _Victor of the 7th Annual Hunger Games_**

Things don't always work out in life. Sometimes you have to make things work in your favor. That's what I did in my Games. When life handed my a death sentence penned by our escort at that time, Mina, and President Gaius Snow himself, I took that death sentence and shredded it to scraps. I got a group of two others, Jeremy from Seven and Laura from Ten. Jeremy and I were 16, Laura 18. In the evergreen forest arena, I put my knowledge of plants to use, keeping the three of us alive until the Top 8. Then we split. Jeremy died the next day from eating a poisonous mushroom, Laura two days after at the hands of the boy from Two, Parkios, who was an early Career who trained himself, quite like Brick and "Headmistress" Serephina. At the end, Parkios made the fatal mistake of crossing the boy from Five, who was a wizard with traps. Parkios died in the boy from Five's traps, and I attacked him and his friend, the boy from Three, ending both of their lives with dagger skills Laura taught me while she was still alive and we were still allied. I made the odds in my favor.

My little sister doesn't quite understand the concept of making your own luck and your own odds. Well, I'll be honest. My little sister doesn't quite understand the concept of anything. She doesn't understand _anything._

"But Pumpkin, it just doesn't work!" she whines.

"It's called _growing things,_ Gourdia! How the hell did you grow up in Eleven and not learn _how to take care of a fucking plant,"_ I howl at her.

Why am I so angry, you might ask? Well, I have a perfectly good reason. Gourdia killed my cactus.

I'm usually a complacent woman. But this is over the line.

"Gourdia, you know this isn't just a random, stupid cactus. This is Berry Hanlowe's cactus! From the 12th Hunger Games!"

I better explain, shouldn't I?

Some Victors, many, really, have things to remember their tributes by. Every District has a Tribute Graveyard. Takami passes out pastries to the families of the dead. Anneliese knits things for those who lose tributes to the Games in Five. Unity lays flowers on every grave every day. Why, even Calla will share some booze or a joint with a family member of a dead tribute, and the Careers take good care of the families whose tributes die. My little tribute to my tributes is the plants. They're from the arenas, the plant that was closest to the tribute when they died.

For example, the 10th Hunger Games. The boy's pot is bigger, filled with sand and lots of beach grasses, since he died in the Bloodbath, near the beach and dunes. The name _Theodore Anderson_ is scrawled around the lip of the pot in my loopy lettering. Next to Theodore's pot is a true beauty. A little purple flower that dies every winter and comes back every summer, created by the Gamemakers, was the plant Hailea Himalayan landed on when she died at the hands of Catherine Spark, the better half of the famous Spark twins, in the Top 8. The little plant, with is plethora of dark purple flowers, is cute and tiny, just like Hailea was.

But anyway, I have a plant for all 41 tributes to have died from Eleven. The plant that Gourdia killed was the cactus for 14 year old Berry Hanlowe. She placed 3rd, and was a remarkable young woman who derived water out of the abrasive desert landscape. She lost her life fighting the last Career, the boy from One, before that boy was taken out by a startled Anneliese Petrova.

I tasked Gourdia with caring for this cactus when I was gone visiting my friend Unity over in Nine for a week for a little girl time together. The cactus was a little sick, so I asked her to water it _once._ She didn't water it, but did end up overwatering the little miniature pine tree _for my own District partner, Antonio! The bitch!_

"Just get out, Gourdia," I say through a veil of tears. She does so.

Gourdia will never understand. Losing these plants is like losing my tributes all over again.

* * *

 _If I look back to the start now_

 _I know, I see everything true_

 _There's still a fire in my heart, my darling_

 _But I'm not burning for you_

* * *

 ** _Eris Glasshine, 24_**

 ** _Resident of the Capitol_**

 ** _Capitol Mentor for District 12_**

"So, Eris, what do you think of Kerensa's newest dress?!" Napolia drawls, her voice slurred by alcohol.

"It's atrocious," I murmur as we watch the model, in a number from Kerensa Linette's newest collection, Abrasia, prance down the runway in a neon yellow jumpsuit studded with electric blue, flashing gemstones.

"DID YOU SAY ATROCIOUS?! I'M WEARING THAT PIECE!" Napolia screeched. Thankfully no one could hear her over the heavy applause of the final piece in the collection as the girl in the avant garde, flamboyant dress strutted off stage. Napolia was in fact wearing the same outfit.

"I meant, like, atrociously amazing!" I say, feigning I high pitched, giggly voice. That placates Napolia, who stands and walks out of the runway hall with me. She's in ten inch heels and is drunker than Calla Espenson on a Saturday night. I practically carry her to a taxi, which whisks away "my friend" back to her apartment.

I walk home alone. People criticize me for my drab gray and brown clothing, and my lack of physical alterations. I have mousy brown hair, warm tan skin, hazel eyes, and a bit crooked teeth. I've been Mentoring tributes from Twelve since I was 20. People tell me that's why I am so drab, so outdated, so _District_ looking. Napolia says that she's surprised that I haven't been arrested by a Peacekeeper thinking that I'm an escaping District prisoner wandering through the streets of the Capitol. I honestly sort of agree with her statement. I do look abnormally normal for a Capitolite, and the Peacekeepers around here the the stupidest in Panem.

No, I am not a District citizen. I never was. I just took the job from Uriel Fless after he retired. No one wanted to take the job, and I wanted something to catapult my name to fame so I would maybe get a better job down the road as a Gamemaker or an actress or whatever stupid dream I was having at that point.

My first trip to Twelve, for the 19th Annual Hunger Games Reaping, was a wake up call.

I saw the poverty, the illness, the starvation, the horrors of the Outermost District in Panem. I saw the little 12 year old boy and 15 year old girl step onto the stage, tired, coated in grime, their bellies concave and their eyes hollow and dead. Both Parker and Nicole died in the Bloodbath, and it was the most excruciating thing I've ever watched in my life. I cried my eyes out, and the Victor-Mentors realized that I wasn't a plastic Capitol doll, but a real human.

The next year, I got a 13 year old girl and a 16 year old male. The male died, blown up after puking from being splattered with the guts of Oakes's girl. The little girl survived the Bloodbath but didn't last longer than a day before mutts got her.

When the little girl, named Delia, died, I walked over to the Eight station. Their boy was still in it, and Woof was working tirelessly at his station while Uriah called sponsor after sponsor, trying to get enough money to send his boy a can of rice so he wouldn't starve.

"So, you guys dabble in rebellion?" I asked them, nonchalant.

That was the day that this Capitol girl became a whole-hearted rebel.

* * *

 **A/N: The last of our Mentors! Next up are the Reapings for District One! :D**

 **What did you think of Oxen, Pumpkin, and Eris? Thoughts on POVs/writing?**

 **Thanks for reading! :)**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	7. District One: Tattoos and Galas

**A/N: First off, I'm not doing the actual Reapings for the POVs, as that gets repetitive. These are introductions of sorts at a pivotal moment soon before the Reapings. Second, if your tribute was not selected, I am sorry. Please do not go on a hate rampage about this story xD.**

 **Enjoy! :D**

* * *

 _I thank God every day_

 _That I woke up feelin' this way_

 _And I can't help lovin' myself_

 _And I don't need nobody else, nuh uh_

 _If I was you, I'd wanna be me too_

* * *

 ** _Trinity Vegas, 18_**

 ** _Resident of District 1_**

 ** _Chosen Volunteer and Academy Graduate_**

"Ready to go, Claus?" I ask, my voice echoing through the empty foyer. Claus doesn't answer. I just sit down on the floor, crossing my legs. The hardwood is cold against my sore calves. It was leg day at the Academy in the weights room. I don't need to provide a further explanation.

"CLAUS EDGECOMBE!" I holler at the top of my lungs. I hear rustling in his room, and the door creaks open, but Claus does not emerge. I huff and stare at the ceiling. Not a dust mote to be seen, and the crystal chandelier hanging motionlessly above my head is spotless, glinting in the late afternoon light. I study the crown moldings, the mahogany display case filled with Claus and his two sisters' many trophies and plaques, the ornate side table holding the golden lamp and the glass vase of tulips, as well as the curving steps on either side of the foyer that meet at the top, the second floor of the Edgecombe's enormous, sprawling mansion. No wonder Claus isn't going into the Games. Most Careers go into the Games for money, or at least the ones I've known. The ones that go in for money or fame are never the ones that come back. The ones that come back are the ones that have something to prove to either themselves or someone back at home. Esquiria had an abusive mother. Kenyan's father was dead a week before his Games from an accident. Soren was disowned from his family after they discovered his fiancee had a different skin color from theirs. Motivation is key in the Hunger Games. That's why the Outliers are always so vicious sometimes, and why more often than not they can claw their way to Victory. Because they have true motivation: the primal need for survival. From the moment they're Reaped, those survival instincts are switched on. Careers don't have that. All they have is pride and skill. That's why you need motivation. Luckily for me, I do have motivation.

Finally Claus creeps out of my room, and I eyeball him, annoyed. He limps down the stairs; he did leg day too, like everyone in One's Academy, under the instruction of Soren. When he reaches the bottom, I stand. He glares at me, sighing.

"Can we do this another day when I don't hurt so frickin' much?!"

"You're not even the one getting a tattoo, Edgecombe!"

Today, Claus and I are heading out to the _Rose Gold Tattoo Parlor._ I have a tradition that started two years ago. When I was sixteen, I entered the running to be One's female volunteer. Of course, I did not get selected for the 20th or 21st Games (thankfully, I would never have survived the eternal darkness and maces and Oxen Bamby's of the 20th or the murderous pair from Two, Lucia and Bastian, of the 21st.) But when I was sixteen, and I thought I might be entering the Games, I got eight little star tattoos on the back of my neck, one for every year I'd been training. When I didn't get picked when I was seventeen, I got the ninth star tattoo. Today marks the 10th anniversary of my first day at One's Academy. I'm one of the first tributes to complete the full 10 year course, as the Academy was founded the year I started training. I got selected to be One's female volunteer two weeks ago, and now I am going to go get the tenth star tattoo and complete my collection. Maybe I'll get an eleventh star tattoo when I return home, or maybe get a whole new set of tattoos depending on how many tributes I kill or how long my Games is or something pretty cool like that. Every Victor gets a nickname. I could be the Tattooed Victor!

Yeah no. That makes me sound like a rabid barbarian out of Twelve.

We set off to the center of town. The Edgecombe's own a giant mansion on the fringes of One's central city, Glowing. It's a short ten minute's walk, or five minute's jog, into the square, where the shops and the tattoo parlor are. Usually Claus and I would race each other there, but it _was_ leg day today. Like Miss Esquiria always says, your body is a temple. Don't bring a fucking wrecking ball at it when it's already hurting.

Soon enough we reach the parlor, bantering the whole short journey. Claus is a pretty hot guy, even I have to admit, but we're just friends, and we both feel that way. He's also four years older than me, and while that isn't that big of an age gap, I'm still eighteen, and he's twenty two. It's a bit big, and if we ever did start dating, the gap's big enough, with me being eighteen, to get plenty of looks from people on the streets. While One might produce the most prostitutes in Panem, it's one of the least open and free Districts. Most of the people here are rich white assholes that look down on black, Asian, and Hispanic people and are homophobic and anti-LGBTQ. It's not a great place to live. Meanwhile, the Capitol is five hundred percent more accepting. You can do practically anything in the Capitol. I could date a seventy year old man and no one would give a flying fuck. The difference between our two worlds is staggering, despite the fact that we're alike in a lot of ways, in our fashion, in our money, and in our extreme avarice.

I am not your typical District One bitch. I may have the platinum blonde hair and the stunning winter grey eyes, but I'm much more intelligent than most of the bimbos that gambol around the Academy like it's a simple Game. It's no wonder that a formally trained female out of One has never won the Hunger Games to date. I plan to change that. I have motivation, intellect, and skill. I'm not some whore pinwheeling across the screens of Panem, pining for a week of fame before being cut down, usually by a weak Outlier who manages to take out the stupid normal One girls.

We've reached the parlor, and I walk inside. Claus hangs back; it is abnormally dark and stuffy in the shadowy building. I walk up to the counter, where are pretty woman with dark blonde hair streaked with pink stands. She has full sleeves on both of her arms, and I love them.

"Here for your star, Miss...Vegas?"

"Yes."

She leads me over to the room where I'll get the tattoo. Claus walks in with me, and watches, biting his knuckles, as the artist approaches with the needles. The man, a gruff older guy named Jyno, has done my nine other tattoos. We talk for about a minute about what he'll be doing, and then he puts up my hair with a tie. Then he starts. The needle bites into my skin, and I hiss in satisfaction.

I walk out of the parlor with a small bandage over the tenth star on my neck. When I walk out of the arena, the first thing I'll be doing is getting an eleventh star.

* * *

 _All the other kids with the pumped up kicks_

 _You better run, better run, outrun my gun_

 _All the other kids with the pumped up kicks_

 _You better run, better run, faster than my bullet_

* * *

 ** _Zircon O'Dile, 17_**

 ** _Resident of District 1_**

 ** _Chosen Volunteer and Academy Protege_**

The clinking of glasses fills my ears as I maneuver through the large dining room. People are giggling and laughing and chatting amiably. My parents, Kathrynne and Jerome, are talking to the Headmaster of the Academy, a hulk of a man named Glitto Henson, who taught Kenyan and Soren, our two Victors since the inception of our Academy. My sister Glint, age fourteen, chatters with a herd of other girls her age, all daughters or sisters of those invited to attend. My older brother William nurses a glass of bourbon in the corner, glaring at anyone that tries to come his way. Academy proceedings always set him off ever since he realized I'm better than him at throwing spears, which were his weapon of choice from his days in the Academy.

I myself am walking through the admiring throngs of important One citizens with my two best friends, Romeo and Rubi. Romeo is watching my every move, studying my tight fighting silvery suit. He's always been a good friend, checking to make sure that I look good. Rubi's on her third glass of chardonnay and is already a bit tipsy. I grab her hand and lead her across the dance floor, where a few pairs of loving couples dance slowly to the soft classical music flowing through the room. The three of us step around a swaying, greying couple and arrive at the bar.

"Another chardonnay!" Rubi squeals, downing the rest of her glass. The bartender hesitantly hands my 17 year old "gal pal", as she calls herself, a fourth glass of chardonnay, which we all know is not a good decision on his behalf.

"What would you like, sir?" the bartender asks Romeo. He's staring at my back and doesn't answer. "Sir?"

"Romeo, what are you looking at? This guy's asking you what you want to drink."

"Oh, oh, I'll have a beer!" he says, quickly resuming his usual excitable persona. Surprisingly enough, Romeo is usually as talkative as Rubi at her tipsy-ist. The bartender gives him the beer list, and Romeo quickly selects and beer, and the bartender pours it.

"And for you, Mr. O'Dile, our lucky volunteer?" the bartender asks with a jubilant smile.

"I'll just have an ice water, please. The Games _are_ a month away, I do need to stay in tip top shape." This guy is rather annoying. If you haven't realized, I make very quick judgments about people. Once I meet someone, within five minutes I'll have made my mind up about them, and once that happens there's no reversing how I feel about that person unless something very drastic happens that totally changes their personality.

The bartender sours a bit and hands me the ice water. The three of us step away. Rubi happily laps at her chardonnay like a cute little puppy, and I chuckle. Romeo gulps down his beer, and I look at him, confused.

"You okay, Rome? You seem a bit off tonight."

"Oh, I'm okay, everything's great, dude! Tonight's all about you, don't worry about me!" So something's wrong. I've always known that Rome finds me attractive. He's bisexual, and I'm homosexual. It's not that I'm against a relationship. It's just that I've never felt that way about Romeo. I think seeing me, the chosen volunteer, looking admittedly gorgeous in my silver tux, has made him realize that he might lose me. Not that he'd lose me. I _am_ coming home, after all.

My eyes rove across the room as Rubi and Romeo chatter useless, meaningless words. I spot the female volunteer, Trinity Vegas, standing by a table which holds her parents and her sister, Princess. Her mother's a Peacekeeper. I don't know her name, although it starts with an S. Sa...sapphire? Yes, that's it! Her father's a goldsmith named Augustus. After we were chosen yesterday, we were locked in a room for an hour to talk about ourselves so we could know our District partner and future ally better. I learned all about her family, and retained much of the info. Also at the table is a man in his early twenties who seems very friendly with Trinity. An older couple and two women, in their later twenties, sit by the man. His family.

As my eyes move over to the table holding Mayor Chalyce and his family, I spot Tomas coming into the room, face flushed, dressed in a plaid dress shirt and jeans. Does he not have any decency? I love the man, as he is my boyfriend of nearly six months, but this is a very formal event. He can't show up like that.

"Tomas is here. He's dressed terribly. I'm gonna step outside with him, okay?" I tell Rubi and Romeo.

"Sure, good thing bud. I'll watch out for little Miss Martini here," Romeo says with a full smile. He's back to himself, it seems.

"It's chardonnay, not a martini!" Rubi slurs. She's getting drunker by the minute.

I wave and then walk over to Tomas. He looks at me, his face one of disgust. I know that Tomas doesn't approve of my training, but he has to understand that this is my dream, entering the Games and emerging Victor. This is what I've wanted to do since I was an infant, when I saw Esquiria Pasquale beat the odds and return home. This is all I've ever wanted to do. I know nothing else that isn't the Academy, that isn't weapons, that isn't Rubi and Romeo and my closest trainer, Zac. Everything I know is those things, and my fledgling love for this beautiful boy in front of me.

The moment we step outside, and the door closes, the festive, jovial sounds of the party are cut off. We stand in the humid June air, and Tomas looks at me with a look I can't decipher. I stare back, trying to unlock the secret that his eyes and heart hold.

"Aren't you happy for me, Tomas? This is my dream."

"We have to break up, Zirc. I...I can't do this."

I stare at Tomas as he flees like a coward, flees like the prey I've been taught to cut down in the Academy, and all I can think is _How will I get him back?_

* * *

 **A/N: So, here we have Trinity and Zircon! Thank you ThomasHungerGamesFan and TheReaper94 for this lovely pair of tributes!**

 **Someone asked me about a sponsor system, and to be honest, I might not do one this time around. We'll see.**

 **There's a poll up on my profile about which Mentors you like the best. Go vote, and the Mentors that get the most votes will be showcased in the Pre-Games.**

 **Oceanside is officially over, stamped complete! Miss Serephina Manchas, the Headmistress, is our lucky Victor. Focus can now turn to this story.**

 **It aggravates me because FFN is being stupid, and I cannot see the nearly 15 new reviews you've penned for me! Gaah! #FirstWorldProblems**

 **Who did you like better, Trinity or Zircon? Overall thoughts on this pair?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	8. District Two: Tactics and Aches

**A/N: We got a LOT of great submissions for Two. This was a very hard District. I loved pretty much every character submitted. If your boy or girl doesn't make it this time, I'd happily take one of them next Games. :)**

 **NOTE: The female tribute refers to her transgender sister as male and uses male pronouns. This is not meant to offend anyone. Ardin just does not fully understand what being transgender means, as it is not a widely accepted to be transgender, especially not in Two. I am sorry if I offended anyone, this note has now been added. I meant to add this note from the get go but forgot to. Again, I am so sorry. Thank you.**

* * *

 _The wasted years, the wasted youth_

 _The pretty lies, the ugly truth_

 _And the day has come where I have died_

 _Only to find, I've come alive_

* * *

 ** _Ardin Varnell, 18_**

 ** _Resident of District 2_**

 ** _Chosen Volunteer and Academy Graduate_**

"Ardin, dear, stop pulling off your gloves," my mother hisses, her brow creased in anger.

I don't object, letting my gloved hands fall flat against the dining room table. My mother stares at my splayed fingers with ill disguised contempt, and I sigh, slipping my hands off of the table, settling them, perfectly folded, in my lap. My mom smiles graciously at me, and I nod. I should be nice today. My mother's usually a nice woman. Social events, especially ones she hosts, bring out the bad side to her.

Everyone has a bad side. I learned that early on. A bad side cannot be avoided. A mother, rapping her daughter's knuckles with a soup spoon until they bleed when she won't hold her cutlery correctly. A father, indignant and screaming when his ten year old daughter, tired and bruised from the Academy, wants to quit. A brother, looking at his twin in disgust when he finds out that his twin would rather be a girl. That twin brother, whenever someone insists that he is male, and will always be male. A sister named Ardin whenever anyone tries to get too close.

My father walks in with my twin brothers, Rickon and Theon, both sixteen years of age. They're all dressed in matching navy suits, and me and my mom are dressed in navy cocktail dresses. My father's suit is already rumpled. Rickon looks proud and dashing in his suit, and Theon looks uncomfortable, like he doesn't want to be dressed in a suit. I know that he secretly wishes he was wearing a cocktail dress like me and mom. Of course I know, since he is my brother. I still love him to pieces whatever his gender is, but I do not think that Rickon feels the same. When Theon revealed that he wanted to be transgender four months ago, he drove a wedge between all three of us. Rickon's uncomfortable with it, Theon wants to do what he wants to do, and I'm stuck in the middle between them. They're slowly pulling me apart. Hopefully I'll be strong enough to pull them both close, and mend the gaps between us. My family, and my friend with benefits, Vincent, are the only people I really, truly care about in this world, along with the future wife I may end up discovering some time down the road. Everyone else can go to hell for all I care.

My mother is hosting this dinner party. Our guests are the Trabador family. Their mother fought in my father's Capitol battalion during the Dark Days. They have two daughters, one a year older than the twins, one a year younger, who are stunningly beautiful. But most importantly, the father, Attucks Trabador, is the head of the board that will select which tribute will be entering the 22nd Hunger Games in a month.

They've narrowed it down to two boys and two girls. The other girl is named Venia Turrettes, and she's three inches off of seven feet, huge and hulking, her body rippling with muscle. She is a monster with a mace and a sword, and is similar to Lucia Theonis in quite a few aspects. But she cannot maneuver well, and she's average speed. She is hopeless with bows and arrows, along with spears. After the 20th Games, when clubs were the only things found in the arena, Careers had to be well rounded in nearly every weapon. Venia is not well rounded. She's also wicked, and decently smart, though nowhere near as good of a tactician as me. My prowess with tactics and long range weapons, along with my exemplary manners at this dinner, will definitely be the reasons I earn the spot.

The Trabador's arrive soon afterwards. Mrs. Trabador is dressed is a forest green gown that was obviously crafted in the Capitol, a thick necklace of pearls draped around her neck. I know Mrs. Trabador well. She is a stuck up woman, who lead my father's unit into war during the Dark Days on the loyalist side, and reaped many benefits from helping cull the rebellion in Two. Her unit ripped it out by its roots and tossed it up and down until its nose bled and its body was dismembered. Her two beautiful daughters, named Tullia and Allania after President Snow's faithful wife. Now that's even a little extreme to a loyalist family like mine. Mr. Attucks Trabador is the last to enter the room. His left leg is metallic, since his real one was blown off in the rebellion. He smiles lightly at my parents, but his eyes harden when he spots me sitting perfectly at the dining table. He sits down across from me.

"Ardin," he hisses.

"Mr. Trabador," I say respectfully, grinning brightly.

"Oh, cut the crap, Ardin. I don't give a flying fuck if you're respectful. Now come with me into the parlor or somewhere else and show me some of that ability to spin tactics on the fly," Mr. Trabador barks curtly. I stare at him, shocked.

"Attucks!" Mrs. Trabador shrieks.

"It's fine, Mrs. Trabador," I reply swiftly. "Excuse us, mother?"

My mother glares with hatred and passion, red faced, at Mr. Trabador.

"Harriett," my father murmurs, and she sighs, letting us go.

Mr. Trabador and I walk down to a room at the end of the hall, my father's office. He pulls up a chair as I gingerly lower myself into my father's plush, spinning chair. This is always only my father's chair. I have never sat here before.

"Now what would you do if, say, a team of four Outliers, all armed, surrounded you, and you were weaponless, Ardin?"

I pull out a sheet of paper and begin to sketch and chatter, letting it all fade into the background as I focus on the pure act of figuring out the best way to approach the situation. Within two minutes, I've laid out my plan of action, and Mr. Trabador looks at me, incredulous.

"Hello, Volunteer for the 22nd Hunger Games. Would you like to head back to the dining room?"

* * *

 _If you're sick, if you're sick_

 _If you're sick of it_

 _Every single day_

 _I chase my own tail_

 _Like the bad inside of me_

 _Has gotta get, gotta get, get away_

* * *

 ** _Tyberios Palatium, 18_**

 ** _Resident of District 2_**

 ** _Chosen Volunteer and Academy Graduate_**

I wake up with the pounding, like I always do. It's an ever present thing, filling my head, pushing everything out greedily, hungrily. Fingers of pain, digging their way into my brain, nails worming their way to the inside of my forehead, dance inside my skull. I hiss and groan and kick, and then force myself to sit up in bed. The covers and sheets fall away from my sweat soaked body. I rub my one hand across my forehead, massaging the bud of the pain instinctively, like I always do. My other hand searches frantically for some clothes strewn across the floor. I pull on boxers, shorts, and a dark green t-shirt, and then I struggle to pull socks over my feet as I stagger out of my bedroom door.

I stumble my way through the hallway and down the stairs, banging my shins against the banister, almost tripping myself a couple of times. I can hear a door crack open, and the frizzed red hair of my sister peeks out of the crack. Her head emerges, and her ugly frown curls downwards.

"I don't need the complaints, Fulmia!" I shout. "I know, I know, it's fucking four in the morning, but it's bad today, alright?!"

Fulmia rolls her eyes, mumbling something about her idiotic little brother being a suicidal adrenaline junkie. Oh fuck her. I really cannot stand her, and this isn't some foolish sibling rivalry crap that a lot of siblings who train have. Fulmia never wanted to be a tribute. She just enrolled in the Peacekeeper task force, and she gets shipped out next year to boot camp over in the Capitol. I never wanted to be a tribute either, until three years ago, one of the new trainers saw my chronic headaches on my files, and said that, if I won, my earnings could buy me treatment. I've looked into it. Unless I want to waste away money on the Panem Lottery or become a Peacekeeper and eventually save up enough money for treatment by the time I'm seventy, then pretty much the only plausible to earn a cure is to enter the Hunger Games and emerge Victor. And who hasn't dreamed of being a Victor? Sitting in the Academy's gym at orientation when I was only eleven. The pain had sent me there, to train, to exercise, to get the heavenly rush of adrenaline that would momentarily ease the pain, wiping it away like moisture being wicked away from my forehead with a towel. I sat in a crowd of other kids, ages six to twelve, and marveled as Clay, Brick, Headmistress Serephina, and our newest Victor from that year, Scylas, strutted out, Headmistress at the front, Scylas at the back. Headmistress gave an impassioned speech welcoming us, and I was struck with a sense of awe as I watched her wave regally as she left the podium. Previous Academy graduates that had become Peacekeepers and other prestigious things took the podium, but my eyes were focused on our four Victors, and I knew then that I wanted to be one of them.

Of course, reality kicked in by the time I was a teenager. I realized what the Hunger Games were, truly realized the pain, the terror, the insanity that it caused. But, then again, I dealt with tremendous pain every moment of my life. Why would dying be any different from waking up with a silvery blade of red hot pain cracking apart my skull and cleaving my brain into two sizzling halves?

I reach the front door, and I pull on my velcro shoes. Yeah, an eighteen year old guy, hunky with muscle and standing at just over six feet tall, wearing velcro shoes. They're easier to get on when the pain is terrible like it usually is in the mornings.

After pulling the velcro straps tight hurriedly, I unlock the front door and surge out, slamming it behind me. I can just imagine a red faced Fulmia roaring my name, but of course I'm already out of the door. She can't do a fucking thing, and that makes me laugh. I immediately start out at a brisk sprint, running near my top speed down the road. My shoes tear at the asphalt as I pound down the streets. Soon everything fades except my rapidly fluctuating heartbeat and the crisp early morning air being sucked in and gasped out by my lungs. Soon my arms and legs tingle, and a bloody taste creeps up the back of my throat. I keep running until I can't, and the blissful, numbing pain in my legs and abdomen makes me collapse. The asphalt bites into my knees, and that makes me smile as I lay there on the empty road. Only trees, silent sentries, stand on this road now. It's velvety black, not even a hint of the sun yet. I close my eyes and breathe, my chest rising up and down at a feverish pace. I don't feel the pain in my head for a good couple of minutes, and I savor that time, wrapping myself in it and falling asleep. Half asleep, whispers of pain in my head tickle me awake, the pain quickly becoming more intense. I stagger back home, holding a cramp in my side, trying to ignore the returning throb of pain in my skull. All I focus on is the asphalt beneath my feet, and the sweat slowly dripping down my cheek, off of my chin, splattering on my drenched chest. I close my eyes, and breathe in the cold morning air. As I head back home, fingers of the sun gingerly hook themselves over the horizon, bit by bit lighting up the frozen black night. The pain's returned full force, but the sunrise distracts me enough to keep the pain at a bearable level.

When I return home, I crash through the door. Fulmia's ready to make a comment, perched on the landing, but I push past her, running up into my room. I put on my Academy uniform, and then I'm out the door again after greeting my parents as they wake up. Fulmia glares at me, and I ignore her. I set off at a hard jog towards the Academy, two miles away. The run lessens the pain, and the day of fighting and working out will distract me even more. My life is lived on a hard, adrenaline filled schedule. The value of something in my life is weighed by its ability to get me high off of adrenaline and to push my headaches away. Everything is about making the pain better. Entering the Games will be more of the same.

* * *

 **A/N: District Two's lucky volunteers are Ardin and Tyberios! Thank you, LokiThisIsMadness and Nemris, for this pair of amazing tributes! :)**

 **Just a reminder, the Mentor poll is up. If you haven't voted yet, go ahead and do so. After a few more chapters I'll post a new poll about something or other that is related to this story xD**

 **If you guys want to do charts ranking the tributes (Love, Like, Neutral, Dislike, Hate), that would be helpful so I can see your views on the tributes. You do not by any means have to do this, its just a suggestion. :)**

 **Who did you like better, Ardin or Tyberios? Overall thoughts on this pair? Predicted placements? Thoughts on the writing?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	9. District Three: Rings and Appearances

**A/N: District Three. Thanks for all the submissions, it was a tough decision, especially for the girls :)**

 **Trigger warning: Swearing and intense romantic scenes (no sex, but close)**

* * *

 _I believe that your words are fateful_

 _I believe you're the broken one_

 _I believe that your words enable_

 _Now somebody better hide my gun_

* * *

 ** _Fujitsa LaMac, 17_**

 ** _Resident of District 3_**

 ** _Fifth Precinct Higher Grade Student_**

People are very narrow minded creatures. They cannot process new things, new entities, new concepts, even if they've been there all along, just hidden in the shadows. People are very routine creatures. They cannot tolerate things that rupture tradition, their time worn beliefs of right and wrong, and their schedules and timetables. People are very ancient creatures. They've been around since far beyond anyone can remember. Things, like gender, sexuality, and revolution have always burned the fringes of their minds. People think being lesbian is "a new fad." There have been lesbians since the beginning of time, except that they've always kept hidden, because people are narrowed minded creatures, routine creatures, ancient, set-in-their-way creatures. People are intolerable beings that are almost impossible to figure out most of the time. The sentiment between empty smiles, sickly sweet condolences, hidden glares, is strange and I cannot, for the life of me, understand it. If there's one thing life has taught me, it is that people are stuck in their ways. If there's another thing life has taught me, it is that even the people you think are closest to you are really often the most distant.

A warm fire kindles itself in the pit of my stomach as I slide out from beneath the cool sheets draped over my cot. Adata, my twin sister, snores on in the cot lying next to mine. Her wheelchair, squeaky and shiny, glints in the moonlight streaming through the open windows. My sister's crumpled form shifts underneath the covers, and she murmurs underneath her breath about _fire_ and _wires_ and _mommy_ and _factory._ My heart clenches, and I stoop down to comfort her when I see that the alarm clock on the bedside table between our cots reads _10:52._ I have eight minutes, and that's barely enough. I blow a kiss to my sister before scurrying out of the door, hoping that Adata will be able to deal with the nightmare coursing through her brain at the moment. She did deal with her terror without me for half of year, and longer than that when the pain and horror was still fresh, when she refused to speak to me.

I slip down the laminated hallway, reaching the front door. The hinges are well greased, like I make sure that they are. I cannot get caught doing what I am doing now. Adata is in the throes of her nightmares, and my father is sound asleep in his room. I slip on my black leather boots, which match my black dress and black leggings. Black is invisible in the smoggy pitch black night of Three's alleys and streets, and anyway, I prefer to wear black. I think it looks good with my dark brown skin and curly hair of nearly the same color. I sweep my hair behind my ears before stepping out onto the street and easing the door closed behind me silently. It clicks, and then I set off at a fast jog down the alleyway my apartment sits on. I have around five minutes to make it to the park.

I am always on time for these meetings. I am normal with everything else. Sometimes I'm a little tardy to school because I have to help get Adata ready, and I'm not a very punctual person naturally. But I go to the park at eleven on the _dot_ every single night. I need every minute I can have in that park. Every single fucking minute, because those minutes are the only minutes that really matter to me any longer.

Soon I'm sprinting down the streets. The only people out at this hour are the homeless and the gangs. A woman peers from around a pile of dirty rags and begs for a breadcrumb, and high pitched feminine screams and the shot of a gun echo far off. I live in a rougher area of Three ever since my mother died and Adata was crippled four years ago in an electrical factory accident. Adata is in no condition to work, my father forbids me from working in the factories, and he gets a meager salary as the assistant of a prominent, stingy designer named Thorpe Cormealius. Well, rarely truly works. Mostly he takes "sick days" (dad's got Thorpe convinced that he has some chronic disease of some sort) and either sleeps in his bed or drinks the day away at the pub. He's still a depressed mess of a man. He still can't cope with mom's death. It's hard, losing a parent or spouse, but he's not fucking here for me, or for Adata. He'll never fucking be there for me ever again, I believe. He's dug himself in too deep of a hole; he's never coming out of it now. My sister's also in a deep hole as well; I know that deep down, she still blames me for the accident at the factory, even though it wasn't my fault. After all, she was kind enough to take my shift so I could take the day off since I wasn't feeling the best. If I had gone to my shift, I would be the crippled one, the one that had watched our mother die. Not that I hadn't dealt with just as bad in my life already, but still. Adata will never understand what the unsegregated prisons of Three are like. No one will ever understand.

My thoughts of my distant, spiteful father, crippled, bitter sister, and long dead mother disappear as I spot the lush green paradise of the park ahead. It's one of the only parks in the District, on the border between the dirt poor streets of the Fifth Precinct and the richer avenues of the Fourth Precinct. She's already waiting on our bench, a smooth one made of oak imported from Seven. I jog over and plop myself down next to her, breathing hard.

"A minute late. I thought you were better than that, LaMac," Cartenya jokes softly, her quiet voice unheard by all excepting myself.

"Oh, fuck you, Daynes. Kiss me." I pull her close, and let my lips collide against hers.

"I missed you," I rasp when we break. She sighs with a smile and leans her head against my chest.

Cartenya's parents are old school, like most of Panem, especially the Upper Districts. While Adata's known that I am lesbian since we were ten, and my father's either too drunk or drowsy to give a crap about my sexuality, Cartenya's parents would tan her hide if they found out that she liked girls, not to mention that she was sneaking out of the house every night at eleven in the dead of the night to go meet her. I am also black, a bit emo, was in jail for six months, and live in the Fifth Precinct. If her parents ever found out about us, we would be done. That can never happen. I can never lose Cartenya. She's the only thing besides Adata that's tying me down, keeping me centered, balanced, keeping me moving forward.

"I have a gift," Cartenya whispers after we've been sitting there for a while, talking about useless things. Her eyes sparkle tantalizingly, and I cannot imagine what her gift might be. I open my mouth to start guessing, but Cartenya's already rolled the silvery ring into my palm.

"I love you, Fujitsa. I realized a week ago that in a couple of months, we'll be eighteen. I don't give a fuck what our parents or Three or even the entirety of Panem thinks! Same sex marriage is legal, even if it is frowned upon. When we turn eighteen, I want to marry you, Fujitsa LaMac. I need you to say yes."

"I already said yes a million times in my head, Cartenya, and you know it," I whisper hoarsely, my eyes crowding with tears. I push her down against the bench and start kissing her hard, until the night skin blends us together and all I know is that I love this girl, and that she loves me.

* * *

 _Places, places, get in your places_

 _Throw on your dress and put on your doll faces._

 _Everyone thinks that we're perfect_

 _Please don't let them look through the curtains._

* * *

 ** _Millard Vaith, 18_**

 ** _Resident of District 3_**

 ** _Third Precinct Higher Grade Graduate_**

I hum quietly to myself as I comb my wavy brown hair into a perfect configuration atop my head. I smile at myself in the mirror, tighten my striped bow tie, adjust my collar, check my fly, and then I step out of the bathroom. I walk through my bedroom, out into the hallway, and down the swooping stairwell, dragging my hand across the smooth oak banister. My mother and father wait at the bottom of the stairs. My mother is dressed in a tight white dress, my father in a suit similar to mine. They both look impeccable, just like I do. I am perfect.

Lying to myself always helps me play the part.

The phone in my pocket buzzes. I draw the small slab of glass and metal from my pocket and swipe across the screen, unlocking it. My messages burst onto the screen. A couple texts on the chat called _Party Gals,_ as well as one from _Connor._ My throat dries up when I see the name Connor with a little red bubble proclaiming _"1 message"_ next to it. A shiver runs down my spine. I quickly check the _Party Gals_ chat. My party girlfriends (girls that are friends. I don't like girls) are on this chat. They're heading to a party in the Second Precinct, a pretty run down part of the inner city of Three. Sonya is the athletic one, Jami is my best friend and the funniest girl on the planet, Hayley, the one that lives in the ugly depths of the Sixth Precinct, scrounges up alcohol and cigarettes and the best raves imaginable, and Beki, a hard drinker and a hard partier, a great guy to be with who is also gay but is going three years with a boy named Cordon. These are the people that I can be my wild, uncaring self around. I am so different with these four, standing under the strobe lights, a drink in hand, shouting at the top of my lungs. I am not the perfect, well mannered son of Garrick and Jellai Vaith who stands in the shadows and shakes hands and fades into the background, because that is what a good son does.

My finger taps the message from Connor, but my father clears his throat moodily. I take a quick look. I see the words "need you", "meet", "my house", and "parents aren't home." My heart leaps into my throat and I begin to tingle.

Connor's been my significant other for a time now. He's 20 years old, and his family would never let him date a male or a female. They're very strict, but they also work a lot in the outer stretches of Three, so sometimes he's home alone for a night and invites me over. For now, we're really simple friends with benefits, but I really have feelings for him, and I think he has feelings for me too. I type a response as I stagger out of the door behind my mother and father.

 _I have to go to a party with the Capitol liaison and the Mayor and all, you know, boring elite party. xD I want to come over so bad. I'll try to be over ASAP but it won't be for a couple of hours at best, okay? love ya :)_

I hit send, and then I shuffle after my parents in the stiff dress pants and confining suit that they've put on. They don't know about my dissent, about my parties, about my sexual orientation, about the real me. They think I'm a perfectly dull young man who goes out on "peaceful afternoon strolls" (damn, are they gullible) and listens and is definitely not gay and is the best son a man and woman could ever have. It's all about appearances. Appearances, appearances, appearances. They're the only thing that's kept my two worlds from colliding in a presumably messy way.

Our house, in the center of the Third Precinct, the very center of District Three, is on the same street as the houses of the Capitol Liaison, the Mayor, the Head Peacekeepers, and two dozen other affluent families. The Vaith's were extremely wealthy before the inception of Panem, and even through the Dark Days we retained our wealth, honor, and prestige, siding with the Capitol nearly from the beginning of the rebellion. We were rewarded heavily. I am not a Capitol loyalist in any way. I sort of waver in the middle. The Hunger Games are terrible, but the Capitol cares for my family well, but then again, I look at my friends and at the streets and see how the Capitol treats the common person, and I cannot find myself condoning anything they do.

We stroll down the street. It's drizzling, but we walk through the rain, ignoring it, like a bubble is suspended around us, blocking out the light rain and keeping us as perfect as ever. Sometimes I swear my mother does have a magic bubble around her. Her makeup never smudges, her hair is never out of place. She is never red faced, she never cries, she never laughs too much. She is always, well, perfect. I've never seen her break. Same thing with my father. Neither of them ever get overly emotional, and when they do they easily disguise it. They are the idea of the perfect, rich couple. To keep up my image, to keep up the charade, I have to be up to par with them. So, I guess that means that whenever I'm around them or around rich people like the Mayor, I am perfect as well.

The door of the Mayor's house is thrown wide open, and soft classical music and the murmur of nearby mundane conversation floats from the house. I always hate parties at the Mayor's house. First off, my parents will never let me drink, and in public, I'm not allowed to question them, even politely, why. It's just a breach of etiquette. Second off, Mayor Chipin has a daughter a year older than me named Odette, who is unmarried. Our parents have been trying to push us together since we were toddlers. I am secretly homosexual, and Beki (he's also a good gossip) has told me that Odette's been caught sneaking around with a thirty six year old man from the Fifth Precinct two months out of jail. So neither of us is interested in each other, but we have to pretend we are for the pleasure of our parents and everyone that is going to the party. Whenever I talk to Odette, I often hear offhand comments from nearby elderly women about "love blossoming." I always scoff at that. Odette's nice enough, and we're okay friends. I just hate being pushed at her like a cow up for auction. "Hey, look! Buy this dude to be your husband! You can go and be sleazy and have affairs with dirty rats of men in the Fifth Precinct, and he'll pretend to be faithful and steady while he's really rutting with a dude named Connor Ulrich! Hahaha! Isn't life just such a swell affair!"

I step into the Mayor's house, sliding on my mask. I spot Odette immediately, and after greeting some people including Mayor Chipin, the two of us "are given space", with everyone leaving us to stand alone in a room. Do they think we're going to have crazy monkey sex or something just because they've moved five feet away? They all stare at us with interest, and Odette and I share sickly sweet fake smiles that both convey the same message.

 _Help._

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you, GaelicPassion and LokiThisIsMadness, for Fujitsa and Millard! This was our longest Reaping yet, and for good reason; this is a special pair of tributes. :)**

 **Hi everyone! Thanks for reading! One note before I ask questions: you guys don't have to do the charts if you want. It was just a simple suggestion. A lot of you said you were doing it because I wanted you to. It was just a suggestion if you guys needed something to help organize your opinions and all. I like the charts, but don't feel pressured to do them at all.**

 **And also, I am going to make another note. Yes, we do have a lot of homosexual or bisexual tributes so far, but I did ask for diversity. I would rather write a story about 24 homosexual tributes than 24 heterosexual tributes. Diversity is appreciated, and I love writing it. I think this chapter really was very diverse, with Fujitsa being the African Panemian (is that how you would say it?) lesbian and Millard being the prim, proper, in-the-closet gay. Just a thought I had. :)**

 **Who did you like better, Fujista or Millard? Overall thoughts on this pair? Predicted placements? Thoughts on the writing?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	10. District Four: Garages and Flirts

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who submitted to Four! This was a hard choice. :)**

 **Trigger Warning: profanity and excessive pranking/flirting**

* * *

 _I been hanging on threads_

 _I been playing it straight_

 _Now I've just got to cut loose_

 _Before it gets late_

 _So I am going_

 _I am going_

 _I am gone._

* * *

 ** _Cordelia Nile, 17_**

 ** _Resident of District 4_**

 ** _Docks Worker and Private Trainee_**

"What do we do?" my father barks, his face dripping with sweat, his brow creased in angst and passion.

"We train," myself and my younger siblings Dylan and Rosemary shout in unison.

"Why do we train?!" he calls.

"We train to protect ourselves," we yell.

"Why do we train to protect ourselves?!" he howls.

"Because of the past," the three of us yell. I never really understand this part of the mantra, but then again this is just something my father uses to pump us up. I take a deep breath as my father straightens, wiping the sweat from his face.

"Weapons for twenty minutes. Rosemary, you're on throwing knives. Dylan, Cordelia, grab the tridents. We're sparring today."

My sister Rosemary quickly grabs a couple of throwing knives and strides over to the targets lined up on the back wall of the garage, where she assumes the throwing stance and begins to throw. Dylan and I grab the two tridents off of the rack on one of the other walls where they hang, motionless. The light of the garage flickers as Dylan and I climb onto the mat, sending clusters of shadows across our forms.

My brother dwarfs me in size, standing at a respectable 5'10'' at age 15. He is already rippling with muscles at his younger age, and quite a few girls are already smitten. Dylan takes after our father, same as Rosemary. Then there's me. I stand at 5'1'', the exact same height as my mother. Dylan towers over me, smirking a bit. He always takes pride in his height. I don't care about my shortness. It just means I'm faster and more agile than him.

We put on the worn, dirty padding that my father has for us. All of our equipment is second hand and crappy. Our father trains us because he doesn't trust the Academy. In Four, it's still not fully operational, and they only hold classes for half of the week. My father thinks he can train us better, and maybe he can. And, anyway, the Academy trains volunteers, Careers. My father trains us on the off chance that we're Reaped. He thinks we'll be Reaped for some reason. None of us take tesserae, but I guess he wants to be better safe than sorry. He's also instilled a deep dislike of the Games in us, especially towards Careers. He's told us that if any of us dare pull a Cephas Gold on him and volunteer after being trained just in case, he will personally come into the arena and slit our throats.

"Start," my father instructs calmly, and I'm startled from my thoughts. We start circling each other, jabbing our tridents from time to time. Dylan has the advantage of strength and weight, but I'm faster and more agile, and also more practiced with the weapon. Dylan isn't that skilled with tridents, and he sometimes swings it almost like a baseball bat. He prefers swords, but we only have one of those, so we rarely spar with them. In two minutes I've disarmed him, and he rolls his eyes and mumbles some excuses as I grin and hand him back his trident.

The rest of training passes quickly. After sparring thrice more with Dylan, he starts working on hand-to-hand combat while Rosemary and I start working on survival skills. Dad salvaged stacks of old survival manuals, magazines, and pamphlets from an old library on the edge of the District soon after the Dark Days, and stockpiled them here. I've always been fond of one green hardcover. It's well worn by my fingers. The title, in gold, is mostly rubbed away, but I think it says _Rudimentary_ _Poisons, by Aidan Conrad._ It's a thick, immersive book about all types of poisons and things like that. It's more interesting than the dry book about finding water that Rosemary is currently skimming, and I've always wanted to try out some of the poisons I've memorized. My father doesn't like the poison book, and Dylan tells me that poisons are for cowards, not people like us. He can be a bit full of himself sometimes, and I won't be surprised if he tries to volunteer.

Dad lets us go early today, since it's the weekend, Saturday to be exact. He opens the garage door, and it creaks open. Sunlight streams through the opening, and we duck under the garage door as it opens. Rosemary heads back inside the house to eat lunch, Dylan following her. I don't feel too hungry, so I just sit in the front yard, looking at the blue sky and going through some simple stretches to stretch my sore body.

Soon enough my siblings come out the door and hand me a sandwich. I munch on it as the three of us head down to the docks. We all work there to earn a little bit of extra spending money. My father Sebastian works on the docks all day during the week, and my mother Nanami works as a waitress part time at a nearby restaurant. We're not a rich family but we're not poor, either. We never go hungry and we have some spending money, but our parents want us to develop work ethics and to earn our own money, so we have to work for it. Dylan loves working on the docks. If he could, which he can, he would be a fisherman. Rosemary's impartial to the docks, as am I. They're fun sometimes, but most of the time our four hour shifts on the docks are just time to get through until I get to see my friends and my boyfriend.

The four hours pass slowly. Today we're cleaning the docks with power washers. Or, more correctly, Dylan and Rosemary get to clean the docks with power washers, while I have to man the storefront of the bait and tackle shop on the front of the docks while the boss, Mr. Ryndell, helps Dylan and Rosemary. No one comes into the bait and tackle shop as expected. I sit behind the counter in a stifling, small shop with stinking fish bait for four hours, and then I am free, enough money to buy my friends movie tickets in my back pocket as the three of us wave goodbye to Mr. Ryndell as he closes up the docks for the day.

Night falls soon enough, and I find myself wandering through the small-town-esque center of Four down to the fountain at the very center of the city. The Justice Building, the mayor's home, and a few other prominent buildings loom around this area, and a beautiful marble fountain spurts water into the air there. A mother watches her two young daughters frolic in the cool waters, and I spot my friends waiting and laughing uproariously by the fountain in the humid, buzzing summer night. I jog over to them, smiling and waving, and they stroll over to meet me.

"Cordelia!" Kailani, the other girl of the group, squeals. She's 16 and still taller than me by half a foot. I hug her tight. Her boyfriend, Jordan, waves shyly, and then I feel Beck's strong barrel arms folding around me and I squeak as he pulls me close to his chest and kisses me.

"Ready for a great night?" Beck asks with a great big smile, and all I can think is that I love my life.

* * *

 _Rule number one, is that you gotta have fun_

 _But baby when you're done, you gotta be the first to run_

 _Rule number two, just don't get attached to_

 _Somebody you could lose_

 _So le-let me tell you_

 _This is how to be a heartbreaker_

 _Boys they like a little danger_

 _We'll get him falling for a stranger_

 _A player, singing I lo-lo-love you_

* * *

 ** _Chavez Belasco, 18_**

 ** _Resident of District 4_**

 ** _Chosen Volunteer and Academy Graduate_**

I wake up early, before the sun is even past the horizon. A crafty, grim smile creeps onto my face as I pull on some random clothes and crack my knuckles. Ah, damn, this will be perfect. They will not have a single clue about what hit them.

I ease open my bedroom door, hopping out into the hallway with the bag slung over my shoulder. Inside is a tube of red paint, a sharp kitchen knife, and a crystal kitchen glass. I step into the bathroom and fill up the glass of water, and then I creep out back into the hallway. The open door of my brother Cisco's room is at the end of the hall, the shadowy depths of his room beckoning, tantalizing. I chuckle quietly to myself as I walk over to his door and crouch down by the threshold. I set down the glass of water, and then pull out of the tube of paint. I smear it across my right forearm, and then across the blade of the knife. I shuffle into the room carefully and place the paint covered knife right next to my sleeping brother's hand. Then I scream as loud as I can and throw down the glass of water with my left hand, giggling quietly as the glass shatters and wakes up everyone in the household.

"You asshole!" I scream as Cisco looks at me, tired and confused. I bite my lip and feign a pained expression as my father storms into the room.

"WHAT THE FUCKING HELL?!" my father screams, his deep, bassy voice reverberating through the room.

"Cisco fuckin' knifed me!" I shout, holding up my arm, which drips with red paint. I hiss in pain.

"Congrats, Cisco. You stabbed your brother. You can't always work out arguments with words; fists and weapons are useful, aren't they, boys? Help your brother clean up that..." he takes a closer look at the wound and notices that it is paint. He is disgusted. "Clean up that paint. Chavez, why do you have paint all over your arm, and why did you put a knife in your brother's bed and break a crystal glass?"

I don't answer, and I don't need to. I live in a dog-eat-dog household. Me and my two older brothers, Francisco and Lando, are always competing to be the favorite son, to frame each other and blame everything on one another. I thought this prank would tip the scales in my favor, but then again, I forgot that it is my father. He is the epitome of masculinity, and expects us to be the same. Not that there's anything wrong with that. That is what every father expects of his sons, isn't it?

My father sneers at me. Of course, the outdoing each other is only accepting when it's subterfuge, when it's successful, when everyone "buys" it. It is not accepted when it is painfully obvious that I've squeezed a tube of red paint across my arm, placed a knife in my brother's bed, and broken an expensive glass. Not that my father cares about the glass; we're as rich as a Capitol family. That's really what me and my brothers compete for. His riches, his inheritance, more so than his approval and his love. Whoever outdoes the others will get the most money when my father dies or retires or is feeling generous. Knowing the man that is my father, the only time he will hand over his enormous heaps of money will be when he's cold and six weeks gone in a casket, deep underneath the ground.

My father leaves the room, and Cisco looks up at me smugly. I squirt the rest of the paint tube in his face and then punch him in the nose. He hisses and tries to hit me back, but I am already out of his room, effectively jamming his door shut. He slams his fists against the door and tries to get out while I push against it to keep it closed. When I'm satisfied, I let go and step out of the way. Cisco goes flying out into the hallway, landing with a loud thump on top of my father. I chuckle quietly as my father raises more hell than Satan controls, screaming and cursing at my brother. I sneak back into my room and laugh, listening to my father's verbal assault on Cisco continue as I put on some nice khakis and a cornflower blue dress shirt. I have to look good. I check my hair, step out of my room, and leap down the stairs. My father is still berating Cisco and looks like he wants to slap him. Hah!

Most of the rest of the day passes in a blur. I jog downtown, to the square. The fountain squirts its clear beams of water into the heavens, and little shops cluster the avenues in the center of Four's small central city. Four really is one of the smaller Districts in population and size, at least land size. I window shop, flirt with the clusters of boys and girls doing the same, and have breakfast with whatever girl or boy I can swindle into paying for my meal. I always leave them with a kiss or a little something more in the back before heading over to the training center. The day there whirls past even quicker. I meet up with Julian Almieda, the other prospective volunteer for our year. Almieda and I are both so good, they don't really know which one of us should volunteer. We're both 18, and this is our last year. I'm determined to beat him to the stage, however, and have told him I will punch his lights out if he also tries to volunteer. He train and train, eating lunch at the center, and then I find myself at the _Sea Biscuit Diner,_ and time slows down again.

Almieda and I come her every night for dinner. With Almieda is some girl he met over the weekend at a night club (he actually holds onto some of the girls he gets for more than a day, unlike me). Her name starts with a V, I think. Probably Vickie, that sounds like a slut's name. Just me? Okay. Sitting next to me is this smoking hot 16 year old named Brielle Tyde from the Academy. When I say hot I mean HOT. Muscles, nice face, blonde hair, blue eyes, suntanned skin, Academy trainee, rich girl, the entire effing package! I would like to get a bite of her, and I think I might soon enough.

Our waitress comes over, and she's blushing. Her's name is Rachelle, and she's been our waitress before, that much is obvious. Almieda and I tend to have a tendency to flirt with anyone in sight, as long as it's leading to free stuff or mouth to mouth connection. With Rachelle and everyone else at the diner, they can give us free stuff in the form of free meals. So Almieda and I put out all the stops to seduce her.

"Damn, Rachelle, lookin' fine! I love you new red hair!" I start off. The girls laugh, they know our routine, and Almieda's warming up to take whatever she next says and serve it back to her in a hotter, more sultry style.

"Well, it's always been red, but thanks!" she says in a high pitched voice. "What would you guys like for your meal?"

"You," Almieda hisses, and then mouths _Belasco, you're up!._ Rachelle looks at Almieda, stunned, and I swoop in for the rescue.

"We'd like you to feed it to us!" I hurriedly say.

"Really? I'd LOVE to!" Rachelle blurbs, grinning to wide. She scurries off to go fetch probably the most expensive meals in the building, and the four of us burst out laughing. God, why isn't it good to be me?

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks to Mistycharming and CelticGames4 for Cordelia and Chavez! This chapter is almost the exact same length, just a little off, as the previous one, incidentally. XD**

 **Holy crap! We have a staggering 99 reviews, and we're not even halfway through the Reapings yet! With this update I'm sure to surpass 100, and I sincerely cannot thank you guys enough. You're all so amazing. On the last SYOT, Oceanside, I hit 100 reviews in the first couple of days of the Games! xD Again, thank you guys and gals so much. You're all wonderful people.**

 **To clear up one question some readers had from the last chapter: Fuji's sister Adata is partially paralyzed, so it is hard for her to care for herself without the help of her sister, and she also would find it nearly impossible to work in the factories without help. :)**

 **Who did you like better, Cordelia or Chavez? Overall thoughts on this pair? Predicted placements? Thoughts on the writing?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	11. District Five: Cats and Bucket Lists

**A/N: District Five! I had a little trouble selecting the female here, and I'm sorry if your tribute did not make it. I'm trying to spread the wealth so as many people as possible have tributes in the Games. Enjoy! :)**

 **Trigger Warning: Swearing and talk of death and suicide**

* * *

 _Well, the first time that I got it I was just ten years old_

 _I got it from some kitty next door_

 _An' I went to see the doctor and he gave me the cure_

 _I think I got it some more_

 _They give me cat scratch fever_

 _Cat scratch fever_

 _I got a bad scratch fever_

 _The cat scratch fever_

* * *

 ** _Bernadette Areli, 12_**

 ** _Resident of District 5_**

 ** _Cat Breeder and Student at Tullia Snow Middle School_**

Today is the day that I have been waiting for for several weeks, ever since I discovered Parchment's swollen tummy while I was feeding her and the rest of the cats in the basement. It's Saturday, so there's no school. I grab my notebook, the black leather cover beaten and cracked. Inside are the names of all of my cats, and the expansive family trees that trace their lineage and characteristics. I grab a pencil from a drawer in the kitchen, and I see another pregnant belly. My Aunt Alyson and my Uncle Dawson Tussix are having their first child soon. They're 27 and 26, young, my dad's youngest sister and her even younger husband. They welcomed me into their home after the...after my parents were taken away from me.

I push aside those thoughts. Nothing has changed. I'm just living with Auntie Aly and Uncle Daw, and today Parchment is giving birth to the kittens of Scrapper! My jubilation quickly swells again, and I shove the drawer closed.

"Parchment's kittens due?" Auntie Aly asks as she makes eggs for Uncle Daw. I think he is upstairs, showering. I can hear the far off splatter of water against the tile floor of the bathroom shower, and I know that my suspicion is confirmed.

"Yep!" I say excitedly. Auntie Aly doesn't ask if I need any help. I've brought over four dozen kittens into this world all on my own, and another dozen with the help of old Ms. Theardie before she died. Why, wasn't that woman an inspiration.

I think about Ms. Theardie as Auntie Aly plops some eggs onto a plate and hands them to me. Oh yeah, I do have to eat too. I grab a fork and tear into them. But, anyway, Ms. Theardie was this _great_ old woman. My heart hurt when she died three months ago. I made sure to have Auntie Aly and Uncle Daw bring me to the funeral and the wake and to her estate sale. But anyway, she had this older female cat named Scribbles. She had four kittens when she was twenty and Ms. Theardie was too feeble to care for them alone. I took them in. I was nine at the time, and I had just moved in with Auntie Aly and Uncle Daw. I am terribly shy because of an acute case of Autism that was diagnosed when I was very little. I grew up knowing I had a disadvantage but I've worked through it. I'm still very shy, however, and I don't like change or talking to people, especially new people. Public speaking is my biggest fear.

But I was gifted the four kittens by Ms. Theardie, who lived next door to our home. I named the girls Scribbles Jr. and Parchment, and the males Daniel and Sebastian. Ms. Thelma Theardie taught me how to care for the cats. She taught me how to tell if they were sick, hungry, or thirsty, and what to do if they were like that. She hooked me up the one and only vet in Five, named Dr. Deb Puller. She gave me cat food and bowls and collars and toys and treats and scratching posts and everything and anything I needed to care for those kittens. Now, here I am, three years later. I've adopted a half a dozen older cats from the alleys and the District animal adoption center, including Scrapper, the father of today's litter. I've bred those six with Scribbles Jr., Daniel, Sebastian, and the mother of today's litter, Parchment. I now have three dozen cats living in my basement, and I've given away another dozen or so. To everyone in the neighborhood and in school, I am the unspoken Cat Breeder. It almost sounds like a super hero name. That makes me chuckle. Some people call me Kitty, most Bernie, though. I am famous in this area of Five for my skills, and Dr. Puller the vet has been looking for an apprentice lately. Someday, it would be great, simply great, to work at Five's vet clinic.

I slip down the stairs to the cellar, the dank air wafting up to greet me. I breathe through my mouth to avoid the smell crafted by the damp cement cellar walls and floors and a dozen kitty litter boxes. Daniel is sitting on the stairs, and I pick him up and scratch behind his ears. He mewls, and I reach the bottom of the stairs. A chain dangles above my head, and I hop up and grab it in my hands. I yank down, and only light bulb in the cellar lights up my pride of cats.

Cats mill around, eating and drinking and sleeping and defecating. I set down Daniel as my eyes search quickly for Parchment. I hear her pained mewls and quickly head over to one of the corners, where she is starting to go into labor. The father, Scrapper, watches from a distance, transfixed by his mate about to give birth to their young. Most of the cats excepting Bianca (she's always been a fiesty, ferocious one, that rescue cat) give me and Parchment and the soon-to-be-born kittens a wide berth. Usually most of them would hesitantly approach me, looking for pets and treats, but they can sense that I am taking care of Parchment as she goes into labor. I pet Parchment before leaping up and running over to a small dresser I keep in one corner of the basement. It's covered in cat scratches, and Scribbles Jr., along with a younger cat that I think is named Yule, sit on top of it. I pull out a pair of latex gloves from the cardboard box in the dresser, and I also grab several blankets. It's too late to move around Parchment, but we can wrap the little kittens in the blankets to keep them warm if need be.

I return to Parchment and help her give birth. It's a simple miracle, watching the five kittens be born. After three hours, I'm sure that they're all alright, snuggled up against their mother's tummy, suckling on her milk. I give them a parting smile, and fill up the food and water bowls around the basement and hand out treats and pets as I go. I'm trying to think of good names for these kittens. They're the first kittens since Ms. Theardie died, and I feel like I should honor her in their naming. There's two boys and three girls. One girl will be named Thelma after her. Another one Tangerine, after her original hair color (She once showed me a photo album of her prior to the Dark Days. She was a pretty girl.) The third girl I'll name after Caitlin, the granddaughter that I've never met that Ms. Theardie always tears up talking about. She must live far away, and must never visit Ms. Theardie at all. I name the two male kittens Yarn in honor of her favorite past time, knitting, and the other Theardie, her last name. I hope that is enough to honor my late mentor. I love that old woman so much.

I emerge from the basement, a triumphant smile splitting my face in two. Uncle Daw is already off to work at the plant, and Auntie Aly grins at me happily. She's prepared my favorite lunch as celebration, a peanut butter and banana sandwich, perfectly divine.

"Your mother and father would be so proud of you," Auntie Aly says with tears in her eyes, and all I can do is nod silently as I remember them. It's all I can do to keep the tears at bay. Nod, nod, nod. Eat, eat, eat. A special day, tainted by grief.

* * *

 _Come on don't say goodnight_

 _With the stars in the sky_

 _Let's wait 'til tomorrow paints the sun across the night_

 _I see love in your eyes_

 _And if you see it in mine_

 _Let's wait 'til tomorrow_

 _Don't say good, say good_

 _Please don't say goodnight_

* * *

 ** _Jayce Newman, 17_**

 ** _Resident of District Five_**

 ** _Daredevil and (Supposed) Student at Adronicus Snow High School_**

"What's happened to you, Jayce?" I ask myself as I stare at me glaring back at me in the mirror.

My body is bruised and battered, and my body sags with the weight of responsibility and the burden of knowledge that only one other person knows of. Usually the marks are hidden by my clothes, and the burden is forgotten in the bliss that I live in most of the time nowadays, but I always have the slightly wounded and tired blue eyes and the slightly false, blank smile, and the soft, lying tongue of a serpent that spits out words to everyone I know as if nothing is wrong, as if nothing had ever changed in my life, and as if it would never change. Just how false is that? Extremely false, believe me.

It all started roughly four and a half months ago. In the richer Districts, the Capitol is starting to repent. Repent isn't exactly the right word. A better way to phrase it is like this: In the richer Districts, the Capitol is starting to actually give a fuck about its citizens. Now that they give a fuck about us (lucky us), they want to make sure none of us are sick, so that us super loyal, super affluent Districts (One, Two, Four, and Five) can keep being loyal and can keep beating down the rebels in the Outer Districts by volunteering to be Peacekeepers and saving that asses of their young men and women, who can instead enjoy as much food and drink as their regurgitating potion allows them to swallow in one bout.

So, anyway, they've installed these "Med Centers" everywhere in the District. It's required to go get a screening in one of them. They're practically large, metallic prisms that look like the old fashioned telephone booths that we still have a few of in Five, minus the glass. You step in, and undress, and then stand there for ten minutes as lasers and prodders probe your body, and x rays and the like are taken. Your vitals are checked, and any disease ever known to afflict mankind is in the system, so it will tell you if you have some strange, rare form of mosquito sickening elixir from the days before the floodwaters swallowed up half of the dry land world. They also give you medicine and suggestions for how to solve your ailment after the diagnosis, and are probably the only nice thing the Capitol has done for the Districts since the Dark Days came to a close and they masterfully forged the rebel leaders' names on the Treaty of Treason. They were installed five months ago, and people flocked to them, excited to try out the new technology. By the time two weeks had passed, the hype around the booths had settled down, and I decided to go to one of them and have it tell me I was a handsome, perfectly healthy teenage male.

I stepped into the both, stripped down to the nude, and ten minutes later the slick screen right in front of my face declared I have some disease that I forgot the name of the second the twenty letter long mix of characters left the screen. It said I had six months to live, and that bit by bit I'd lose my energy until I was so tired out I'd just plain fall flat dead, and there was nothing I could do to save myself.

So I've turned from the boy next door into a reckless, carefree daredevil, my only aim to experience everything life has to offer in my last months of life. I've made out with and gone farther with my girlfriend and only true friend, Delilah. With Delilah, I've gone bungee jumping, I've driven a stolen car, I've gone skinny dipping, I've stolen baked goods from the Potu bakery, I've tee peed two houses and egged three, I've broken a window with a baseball, I've broken a lamp, I've broken fine china, I've set a pile of school papers on fire, and I've gotten into a fist fight in an alleyway with Delilah waiting to go get the police if things got bad. I haven't gone to school in two months, and Delilah hasn't been in three weeks. You don't need school anyway in Five. I still have a list of things to do, and a month and a half left to do them. I want to kiss a guy. I want to go rock climbing. I want to be on a train. I want to be on a plane. I want to feel the truest fear imaginable. I want to eat something poisonous and survive. I want to see something else besides the robin's egg blue skies dotted with white, puffy clouds, something else besides the eternal red and orange rock mountains and arches, something besides the hundreds of power plants and hydroelectric dams and windmills and solar panels and labs everything else in between that produces power or studies science. There's only two ways to complete my last goal, and they're both insanely crazy. The first is to go over the giant electrified fence on Five's border and walk for days on end through the empty space between Districts to hit Four or somewhere else. That's impossible. The second is to go into the Hunger Games, and the only probable way to do that is volunteering. Sure, I've taken out a bunch of tesserae I don't need and given it to some of my poorer, closer friends because I have nothing left to lose. But I still won't be Reaped probably. There are thousands of kids in Five, it is one of the bigger Districts, just shy of having to do the double Reapings like parts of Three and all of Seven, Nine, Ten, and Eleven.

So I probably won't do everything on my list. Okay. But that's beside the point. Right now, I'm having a crisis, looking at myself in the mirror and asking how I got here, with my girlfriend Delilah now in the hospital with a broken arm and my own body fatigued and injured after we provoked a pair of alley dogs and tried to run away from them. I always used to be a good kid, but I'm falling to ruin. I stumbled home, bleeding and bruised and whimpering, and my mother and father looked at me with sad, loving eyes, tears swimming in them, and my mother asked what had happened to me.

I know she didn't mean what had happened to me with the dogs.

I love my parents. They are the most important people in my life, along with Delilah, and I have disappointed them. I've tarnished the family name and destroyed my reputation, and they think I'm just slurring my whole future because I have one. Yeah, I haven't told them yet that I'm dying. The information given by the Capitol medical booths is private and is never told to anyone else excepting authorities if the need be. No one else knows unless I tell them. Delilah is the only one that knows, because that was the only way to convince her to skip school the first time we did to go egging the abandoned houses in the slums of Five.

I stare at myself, and ask myself over and over when I'll tell them, and get them to understand.

I know I won't be able to tell them until they find me one morning, dead under the covers, my tired corpse collapsing in on itself in utter relief.

* * *

 **A/N: Today we had Bernadette Areli and Jayce Newman! Thanks to StarlilyJam for Bernie and david12341 for Jayce! They're both great characters and I thoroughly enjoyed writing them. They were special :)**

 **Sorry for the longer than usual wait for an update, but I was busy doing something all of you that read Oceanside will love! I created a blog for Oceanside, and if you want you can go check it out! Here it is:** **oceanside10thhg . blogspot . com**

 **Speaking of blogs, Cloe (LokiThisIsMadness) has been working on a blog for this story. It isn't yet completed, but if you'd like to go check it out, here's the link for BMO's blog. Thank Cloe for it, it's all her work :) blowmeover22ndhg . blogspot . com**

 **Some of you have been commenting on length, and like I've said before, I'm one for quality over quantity. Not yelling at anyone just reminding you xD And anyway, I think around 3,000 word chapters for 2 POV Reaping chapters is decently long.**

 **Next chapter I'll put up a new poll about the trains and goodbyes.**

 **Who did you like better, Bernie or Jayce? Overall thoughts on this pair? Predicted placements? Thoughts on the writing?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	12. District Six: Voices and Wrenches

**A/N: District Six! The girl was an easier choice, but I had two good boys, and it came down to the line choosing between them. Enjoy!**

 **Trigger Warning: Profanity, and talks of murder, suicide, depression, and drug use.**

* * *

 _There are voices in my head_

 _\- Oooooh, You're such a mess_

 _Saying things that shouldn't be said_

 _\- You're talentless._

 _I just hope that they will_

 _\- No we won't_

 _Go away_

 _No they won't go away_

 _\- Never go away_

 _\- Never go away_

 _They're here to stay._

 _\- We're here to stay_

 _\- We're here to sta_ y

* * *

 _ **Liberty Miles, 16**_

 _ **Resident of District 6**_

 _ **Student at Propane High School**_

 _You're an ugly bitch. You should just kill yourself, Libby._

"Shut...shut up, Anaya..." I stare at myself in the mirror as Anaya's voice rings through my head. My eyes trace my features, absorbing them but not really registering them, just realizing that they are there, and that they exist, and that I am real.

 _I never shut up, and you know it. I never shut up when I was alive, and I'll never shut up now that I am dead._

"Go...go away!" I moan, and slam the closet door with the mirror on it shut. I know Anaya won't give up. She's never given up, not since I was 13. When I was 13, Anaya disappeared. She was found dead four days later in a scrapyard, her body intact, not a speck of blood in sight, not a trace of morphling or other addictive substance in her veins. They couldn't figure out how she died, but she was dead, and that was that. I was devastated. She was talkative but had always been nice to me, and she was my older sister. I adored her. I turned to the dark parts of Six and took up a morphling needle for a couple of months until my parents found out. They cut me off immediately and sent me off to rehab for a couple of months, where I recovered mostly from my addiction. I'm still tempted daily, however. It's hard to stay away from the dark alleys, beckoning with the sounds of backstreet drug gangs.

But ever since I slid the first needle into my arm, Anaya has haunted my head at all times, bothering me and harassing me and insulting me. At first I thought it was just a hallucination from the morphling, and then a lingering side effect as I went through rehab. But I've been out of rehab for two years, and I haven't touched a drop of morphling in two and a half years, since I exited rehab. And yet, Anaya still lingers in my head, taunting me and screaming insults and distracting me. I manage to function and ignore her voice, but it still scares me sometimes, and no one talks to me since I yell at Anaya a lot whenever she talks in my head in public. People think I'm crazy, talking to myself. I am crazy, probably. I'm just talking to my dead sister in my head, so I _do_ have an audience.

 _An audience, you say? I'm not clapping for the shitty performance that's your life, you asshole._

"I don't expect you too, Anaya..." I trail off before turning away from the mirror and heading over to my dresser. I pull out a purple shirt and jeans and put them on, and then I march downstairs, managing to suppress Anaya's thoughts on my clothing choices.

When I sit down at the counter to eat, I let my guard down. My mother and father look at me curiously as I clench my teeth. Anaya's voice splutters out everything she's been thinking for the past couple of minutes in one rush.

 _That shirt is ugly it shows off your flat chest, and those jeans are so saggy on your concave ass, and why the hell do you hop down the stairs like that you fag? And you still eat sugary cereals you immature bitch. Get out of your diapers and go take a hit of morphling and be a real bad girl that all the guys want._

I plow through my bowl of Puffy Sugar Oats, not really tasting them, just feeling dozens of tiny pinpricks littering the undersides of my arms, the places where I injected morphling into my veins where I was thirteen. The little dot scars are pretty hard to see, being on the undersides of my arms and being minuscule, but I still often feel self conscious about them. People still think I do morphling because I'm so aloof and distant and quiet. I don't need to give them another reason by seeing the scars that pepper the undersides of my pale arms.

Once I am done with breakfast, I grab my book bag and wave goodbye to my parents as I wander out of the house. I traipse down the smoggy avenue, the eternally gray skies overhead smothering the sun and making my skin pasty white like everyone else with skin like mine in the District. Heck, it's so sunless here, even people with darker skin look washed out and lighter than most people of color in other Districts. I shiver as a cold breeze rattles down the street, pushing trash sluggishly forward across the rough pavement. A few other kids walk to school nearby but they give me a wide berth. I don't give a fuck what they think about me.

 _Yes you do. You KNOW that you do. You know that you want to be accepted, with the boys flocking at your feet and the girls clustering at your every beck and call. Just take up that needle, and they'll all realize how cool you are, Libby._

My eyes glance down a nearby alleyway, where I see two older men playing with a vial and a set of needles, and my heart flutters and my will almost gives out. I almost head down that alleyway as Anaya taunts me relentlessly.

 _Go do it, Libby. Squirt the morphling into your veins and send me away for a day. You know you want it. You KNOW you want it. YOU WANT IT, SO GO GET IT YOU SNIVELING LITTLE BITCHY LITTLE SISTER! GO. TAKE. A. HIT!_

I run like my life depends on it, and I does. I barrel through the front doors of school and rush to my locker, not thinking about anything but taking out my homework and my books and heading to Ms. Zitiz's room. I shuffle my graded papers in their folder, all bearing bright red A's. I smile at them, and put the folder in its spot inside the locker before grabbing my history books and binder. Ms. Zitiz teaches history, and is my first period teacher.

I slip into her room a couple of minutes before the bell. I sit down behind my desk and complete the easy bell work all while Anaya harasses me. I manage to get really great grades in school despite being distracted by Anaya. I can stay focused besides hearing Anaya, and I'm really smart, so a lot of things come easy to me in school. If I wasn't as naturally smart as I am, I would flunk school with Anaya pestering me all of the time. Ms. Zitiz walks into the room. She's a tall, beautiful, young, graceful, curvy woman, the kind of woman most girls want to grow up to be. She has a rich, successful husband and a two year old son named Zach. I smile at her as she greets us. She's a very nice and good teacher, and she's one of my favorites. Anaya has a different opinion.

 _What a slut, wearing such a short skirt. She probably wants to seduce one of these hormonal teenagers. Such a whore. She's so fat and ugly, you should stand up and scream that in her face. Go ahead. Come one, Lib, call her a fat, ugly seductress. Go on!_

I push past Anaya's whiny voice and focus on the lesson as Ms. Zitiz starts talking about the 10th Hunger Games. On the electronic chalkboard, Ms. Zitiz pulls up a picture of the Victor, the infamous Serephina Manchas. There isn't much to learn pre-Dark Days in History since the Capitol obviously doesn't want us knowing what the world was like before the inception of Panem, and most of Panem's history pre-Dark Days is already mostly lost. People don't live that long in the Districts, especially in Districts like Six, polluted and full of toxins. But anyway, we have a quiz tomorrow about the tributes of the 10th Games. She gives us a pop quiz on them. It's just three questions, simple, easy, not even a grade.

 _1\. Who was the Victor of the 10th Hunger Games?_

 _Answer: Serephina Manchas_

 _2\. How long did the Games last? Elaborate on the length._

 _Answer: 12 days. It's about the average length of a Games._

 _3\. Which District was the first to lose both of their tributes?_

 _Answer: District 10_

I turn in my little slip of paper to Ms. Zitiz, and then I'm allowed to leave class. I wave goodbye, and go to my locker. Most people are still in class, and I see a guy walk towards me. He holds a small package in his hands, and I look at him inquisitively as I pull out my calculus book and notebook.

"Hey, addict-girl, I'm startin' to sell some vials. Want some?" he asks, holding up the brown paper package. The glass vials inside clink together.

 _Take it! You do have money in your backpack for lunch. You'll survive without lunch for a day. Take it, Libby!_

I push past him and storm off to calculus as the other kids start to come out of their classes. Sometimes I really wish my sister was _fully_ dead.

* * *

 _Look_

 _If you had_

 _One shot_

 _Or one opportunity_

 _To seize everything you ever wanted_

 _In one moment_

 _Would you capture it_

 _Or just let it slip?_

* * *

 ** _Fender Hopkins, 17_**

 ** _Resident of District 6_**

 ** _Student at Propane High School_**

Torque and I walk together down the street. He lives close to me, and every morning we wake up very early to head to the school's gym for an hour or two before school starts. The two of us chat and joke, prodding each other with insults and shoving each other around a little bit as we walk. The sky is dark, not only from the smog but from the night. It's around 5 A.M., and the faint haze of sunlight that permeates through the clouds during the day isn't there, so the sky is pitch black, although we can make out the street and the buildings around us due to the streetlights spread out unevenly along the street. They paint streaks of golden light across the street, and light our way. They also reveal anyone else walking by at this early hour. A homeless man shuffles by, ignoring us, and I hear some laughter from a nearby alleyway. A pair of older man are high off their asses, two needles in their hands, and I growl, rolling my eyes. They start brawling on the ground as they disappear from my sight, and I just shake my head. My hoodie reads _"Pride in Six"_ with our seal below it. Everyone that knows me knows that I hold our District in high regard. Before the Dark Days, we were a mecca of trade, diversity, ingenuity, and forward progress. We were the fourth richest District in Panem, right behind the Career Districts and just barely in front of Five. Now we've fallen to ninth place, with only Nine, Eleven, and Twelve below us. Our streets are riddled with gang violence, drug abuse, and rape. We are no longer the pride of the Outliers. No, we're bloodbath fodder along with places like Nine, Eleven, and Twelve. I have respect for Nine. They're a resilient, hard working place, and so is Eleven sometimes. They can produce great tributes. Twelve, however, just seems like they gave up when the Games were announced, and they've never tried to win ever since.

"Dude, you're really quiet," Torque murmurs. "Thinking about Demica?" he says with a grin, elbowing me playfully. I swat his arm away. Demica Taski is this girl I'm friends with. I don't have a girlfriend, but if I had one it would be her. I think she likes me, and she's a really pretty, great girl. I'd be proud to be her boyfriend, but right now I need to focus on other things than girls.

"No, just thinking about the business," I reply. Not exactly true, but my train of thought was heading there. Torque and I are working on this business model with the help of my father. We've started working as mechanics and we fix cars for lower prices than most places in Six, and we're both really good at it from all the classes in mechanics that they offer at Propane High that we've taken.

We're at the high school now. We buzz in and report our names for the office workers to let us in.

"Fender Hopkins," I declare, and they open the door for me right away. See, my father's a pretty high up Peacekeeper, and he's well respected in this area of Six, where he works most of the time. My mom's also an architect, a rare job in Six. It takes up a lot of time and I rarely see her as she's constructing factories and all that in different parts of Six, but she makes good money and is a good mother when she's home.

"Apollo Nitra!" Torque booms, and the office staff let him in quickly as well. Torque's real name is Apollo Nitra, he just goes by Torque. They really shouldn't make us buzz in. We come here almost every morning at almost the exact time. They should just have the doors open for two minutes at the space of time when we usually come. Then again, in that space of two minutes some stupid gang would probably break in and spray the gang signs all over the lockers that my brother Carter's started to draw in his notebooks. He sure got in trouble for that. That stupid kid, wanting to be a gangster. He thinks it'll make him cool.

It'll only make him dead.

Torque and I walk up two flights of stairs to the workout room. The big gymnasium is on the bottom floor of the high school, but the room with all the weight machines and dumbbells is on this third floor. We slip into the room, and set to work. I do sit ups, and Torque works on push ups. Then he does sit ups, and I do push ups, and then we take to the various weight machines until fifteen minutes before first period begins. We head into the locker room, shower, and change, and then we head down to our lockers, close to each other. Torque's a year younger than me, a sophomore, and I'm a junior this year. He heads off to history with Ms. Zitiz while I walk into my first class of the day, a mechanic workshop class with Mr. Herolds. Demica's in this class, and she grins at me as I sit next to her.

"How was the workout today?" she asks with a playful smile.

"Good, good, got these arms pumpin'," I reply with a goofy grin, and I flex. She just rolls her eyes and tells me to knock it off as Mr. Herolds walks into the room. He walks over to the chalkboard and writes the date and the day's agenda as we continue to talk.

"Doing your P.E. speech today?" Demica wonders aloud.

"No, I did one yesterday and Coach Wheiler said that that's good enough for the week." All the P.E. teachers like me and Torque because of our affinity with physical education, as well as mechanics. We give speeches sometimes in P.E. to the freshman about how important it is to stay healthy and fit and all that sort of stuff, and it sometimes helps. I like giving those speeches. It encourages those kids to get fit, so maybe then they'll have a better chance of surviving the Games if they ever do get the bad luck of being Reaped. If this mechanic business Torque and I have going doesn't work out, my next choice of occupation would be to be a P.E. teacher in the schools of Six. I'd be a hardass teacher, but I'd get everyone in my classes fit and able.

"Today, class, we're gonna be talking about how to fix a R-068 engine in a Fluye Hovercraft, Version 5.3," Mr. Herolds booms. Everyone scrambles to grab pencils and their notebooks to take notes about the process before we have to do it ourselves.

"Easy peasy," I tease Demica after she complains about how much she hates fixing Fluye Hovercraft engines.

"Oh, sure, Mr. Mechanic. Even Odis Armstrong struggles fixing Fluye Hovercrafts, and you're not as good as that master of mechanics."

"Touche, my fair maiden," I say in a mocking tone. She giggles and slaps me with her notebook, and Mr. Herolds clears his throat, his incising eyes locking on both of us. We both quiet immediately, grab our pencils, and poise them over our papers.

"Having trouble Mr. Hopkins, Ms. Taski?" Mr. Herolds asks in an exasperated tone.

"No, sir!" we both holler together, and Mr. Herolds seems satisfied, starting with his lesson.

"First off, to fix a R-068 engine, you'll need a monkey wrench..."

* * *

 **A/N: Here we have Liberty and Fender, courtesy of StarlilyJam and the victor of panem respectively. Thanks for this fun pair of tributes!**

 **Sorry for the wait, but TODAY IS MY BIRTHDAY! I had an impromptu birthday party with some of my friends last night so I couldn't get this out yesterday like I planned. I wanted to get this out before my family party today, and I hope it didn't feel rushed.**

 **Blogs are my newest addiction, and I'm currently working on one for the Victors of this universe. It may or may not contain spoilers on who I'm pretty sure I'm accepting in the other Districts xD Here it is: tracelynnsvictors . blogspot . com**

 **One thing I wanted to note, just so you guys can start thinking about this. I am not making alliances for you. Besides the Careers (all six of the tributes from One, Two, and Four), the rest of the alliances will have to be made by you. You will have to contact the creators of the other tributes and see if they want an alliance with your tribute. If one of the submitters isn't responding/isn't reading, I'll add them into whatever alliance you guys would like them in. And, also, alliances are not essential. I like writing solo tributes as much as I like writing alliances, if not more so. Having an alliance will most likely not effect how well your tribute does, so don't feel pressured to make an alliance. There were very few alliances in the 74th, and so if we have very few alliances in this story I'm alright with that.**

 **The new poll should be up. It's about trains and goodbyes and how I should do them. Please go vote! :D**

 **Halfway through the Reapings! Yippee!**

 **Who did you like better, Libby or Fender? Overall thoughts on this pair? Predicted placements? Thoughts on the writing?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	13. District Seven: Ladies and Witches

**A/N: Ah, District Seven! I think I picked the right pair here, and they should be a thrill to write and develop. Enjoy! :D**

 **Trigger Warning: Sexism and profanity**

* * *

 _Could dress up, to get love_

 _But guess what?_

 _I'm never gonna be that girl_

 _Who's living in a Barbie world_

 _Could wake up, in make up, and play dumb_

 _Pretending that I need a boy_

 _Who's gonna treat me like a toy_

* * *

 _ **Ivy Cross, 16**_

 _ **Resident of District 7**_

 _ **Lumberjack and Student at Fyr High**_

I hang back on the threshold of the living room, trying to hide behind the sheet of dirty blonde hair that obscures my face when I tip my head forward. I bite my lip indignantly, but tonight is an important night for my father. No matter how much I want to curse his name and rip out his hair and tug on his beard until I tear it to shreds and his chin is bleeding...no matter how much I want to run and find solace in chatting with Olly...no matter what I want, I cannot have it. I have to stand here, in my too revealing pastel pink dress like a good girl. I have to stand here, respectful and silent "like a girl should be". I have to stand here, wreathed by shadows, about to step into the candlelight and knock off the socks of Harlow Teuscher.

I inspect my nails, squinting, and then I bite off a bit of the longest one. I gnaw feverishly after that, until all the white part is bitten away, and then some, and a dull, throbbing ache spreads through the tip of my finger and under the nail. I toy with a shard of nail between my two front teeth, hewing it away until it nearly dissolves in my mouth. I bring my hand up again to bite the next nail clean off, but none of my nails have anything left to bite. Nervous, I tear off a corner of skin on one of my fingers. My finger starts bleeding, and I suck on it to stop the bleeding.

"Ivy, daughter dearest, will you join us in the dining room?"

There's my cue, the sickly sweet fakeness of my father's voice making me want to cringe. But I hold my head high. Just get things over with, Ivy. It's just dinner. It's just dinner. I hold my hands behind my back, and I feel the small trickle of blood from my finger. A bit of blood pools in my cupped palms. I fight the instinct to wipe the blood off on my dress. It's a pale pastel pink. If I wipe red blood all over the sides of it, I will shame my family and myself. Even though I hate this and would do quite a lot of things to get out of this, I won't make it seem like I'm having my period or something, because that's what these creeps will think. That's just gross and down right disrespectful to myself. And this was my mother's dress. I will not ruin things that belonged to her.

I slip into my chair, in between two of my brothers, Pine and Evan. Pine is just like my father, masculine to an excessive point. At least Evan tries to be human sometimes when we're alone, but when he's around my father and Pine and my other brother, Nico, he's an ass like the rest of them. Pine ignores me, and Evan gives me a cursory look to make sure nothing's out of place.

Harlow Teuscher sits across from me, and I somehow manage to draw a smile from the deepest depths of hell and implant it on my face.

Strategically placed is how everyone is. On Harlow's one side is his younger sister Marla. She's my age. She flirts shamelessly and dirtily with my brother Pine, three years older than, and neither my father nor Mr. and Mrs. Teuscher bat an eye. There is a trade going on, after all, if you haven't realized it. Marla Teuscher for Ivy Cross. Two well built, pretty, "obedient" girls ready to take up the opposite family name and bear lots of children. To Marla, this is her life, everything she could ever want. Pine is tall and handsome and well built like all of us in the Cross family, and while we aren't the richest family, we live in a nice house in a nice neighborhood, and Pine seems to be an honest, hardworking man. They'll be having children in six months I believe. And Harlow looks at me with hungry eyes. I am supposed to be his. Harlow isn't the worst man in Panem, but just like most of my brothers, my father, and Mr. and Mrs. Teuscher, and even Marla, they are sexist. We live in a pretty little white town where women are worth less than men and everyone lives in harmony as we produce lumber for the Capitol. What a motherfucking sham everyone's life is here, and all these dumb asses think the life they live is true and honest.

My mother stuck out like a sore thumb in this place. Married off to my father at age 17, she resisted marriage and children. She and my father clashed. They never, ever got along. But since things are perfect here in Nuesville, District Seven, it's tacit that divorce is not allowed. Everyone is always a happy, perfect family unit, and relationships always work out, don't they? My mother was a feminist and my father was a sexist, and things were hell between them.

My mother died when I was seven, and afterwards I never felt so alone.

When I was getting accustomed to my body and I was an insecure preteen, my father lashed me with his sexist ideals. My mother's lingering words of "you are valued" and "everyone is equal" clashed with his new, furious "you are lesser" and "women bow before men". I was lost. I had no idea who I was, who I was supposed to be. My dead mother's ideals and my father's mantras latched onto either side of me and tore me apart. It took Olivia Gramson to put me back together. Olly met me several years after Mom died. I'd never really talked to her. She was an outcast, really, just like I had become. Olly had Down syndrome, and she was a glaring imperfection in the perfection of Nuesville. She found me the one day and started talking to me. Yes, she was different, but she was a person. She was charismatic and funny and personable, and despite the disadvantages life gave her at the get go (Down syndrome, coming from a poor family, being biracial in a snow white town) she was happy with who she was. She taught me to love myself, and I still haven't repaid her for that.

"Ivy?" Harlow asks, and I realize I've drifted off into the realm of reminiscing and pensiveness. I perk up and plaster the smile back on. Harlow looks at me with a quirked brow. He is rather handsome, I must admit, but everything I stand would be violated by even entertaining the possibility of going along with my father's plan to marry me to this boy. I decide to reply. Food will be out soon. Soon this whole ordeal will be finished.

"Are you worried for the Reaping tomorrow, my dear?" he inquires with a semi-genuine scowl of interest.

"Well, the Reaping always does scare girls like me," I lie through my teeth.

 _I am not scared of the Reaping, Harlow Teuscher. Maybe my name will get whisked out of the glass Reaping ball tomorrow, and I'll be out of this hell and into another. I'd rather be anywhere else but here, marrying you. Maybe it would be better if I were Reaped tomorrow._

"Ah, girls do have such soft nerves," Harlow says with a glint in his eyes. It takes all I have within me not to spring to my feet and scream at him. I work in the lumberyard every day until noon, unbeknownst to everyone excepting my family and some of my co workers who realize who I am. My father realized I had enough muscle to lift a hatchet when I was 10 and set me to work to make him some extra cash. Now I have unusual muscles for a "simple lady" and I can wield a hatchet like nobody's business. I could cleave open Harlow Teuscher's skull and watch his brains drip out.

"Soft nerves indeed," I reply with a soft lilt to my voice.

 _Anywhere else but here._

* * *

 _Welcome to your life_

 _There's no turning back_

 _Even while we sleep_

 _We will find You acting on your best behavior_

 _Turn your back on mother nature_

 _Everybody wants to rule the world_

 _It's my own desire_

 _It's my own remorse_

 _Help me to decide_

 _Help me make the most Of freedom and of pleasure_

 _Nothing ever lasts forever_

 _Everybody wants to rule the world_

* * *

 ** _Baron Arbor, 16_**

 ** _Resident of District 7_**

 ** _Lumberjack, Student at Kalul High, and Member of the Coven_**

When I was a little boy, Grandma Circe would spin tall tales while she crocheted and brewed elixirs out of forest leaves and fungi. I would sit on a little oaken stool, creaky, the legs uneven, on the dirt floor of her small shack. The dirt was sometimes cold, and it was covered with furry moss in places, almost like living green carpet. I would wiggle my toes in a section of moss, feel it squelch between my toes, as Grandma's crocheting needles clacked and her mortar and pestle ground rose petals into a mushy, bloody mash. She would tell me of faeries and goblins and princesses and knights and dragons and witches. She always called the witches sorcerers and sorceresses, and I would ask her why she called them that. She would bark at me and tell me that was what they were called, that that was their proper name. Later on I would find out why she got angry at me whenever I asked her that question. That was the only time Grandma Circe ever got angry at me. She'll be angry with me today as well, but that doesn't matter. Nothing matters much now.

I asked her one day, as she pulverized waxy white-yellow mushrooms to a starchy powder, where my parents were. She conjured a great epic about a knight who met a princess, and they saved the entire District from ruin after fire breathing dragons threatened to burn down our lumberyards. Then, after they had me, my mother was called away to the land of the gods to help them fight off an invasion of demons, and my father was transported to a perpetually black and white realm where he kept peace and order as a police leader. Grandma Circe said they met up on weekends to see each other, and they plotted to return to the universe that contained Panem once all the demons were out of heaven and peace was restored in the black and white world. I was five years old. I believed her. I told everyone at school that my mommy and daddy were heroes, that they'd saved universes. Many believed me. Hax Lewin didn't. He was eight years old, and he'd failed out of preschool three years in a row just because he wouldn't show up for more than half of his classes. But he showed up the day I told everyone Grandma Circe's tale, and he just scowled, his ugly grin coming to life, his fat, chubby cheeks growing ruddy as he and two of his friends walked over.

"Your momma and daddy ain't no heroes," Hax spit in my face.

"Yes they are!" I said shrilly.

"No they ain't. Your momma was a whore who spent a night with a Peacekeeper and she _left_ you, you piece of ugl _eeeeeee_ trash!" he howled. "And your poppa is Head Peacekeeper Grimm himself! Yawhee!"

Of course I didn't believe him. Grandma Circe was always right. She never lied. Grandma Circe was a truthful, loving, caring woman. I was her beloved grandson, she my beloved grandmother. Grandma Circe could never lie to me.

People lie all the time.

Hax kept pestering me as I grew up. It was never bullying exactly, just a couple of thrown punches here, a couple of foul words there, nothing that ever really bothered me. By the time I was in third grade I was his size. I'm not particularly big, but Hax was pretty small for a man. He just seemed massive when we were in preschool. Third grade, and Hax backed off, but by then the seed of doubt was alive and wriggling for real inside of me. I was growing up, and I kept thinking _Mom and Dad can't_ really _be superheroes, can they?_ But I would always circle back around and think that Grandma Circe would never lie to me.

When I was 12, and we were heading to a Coven meeting by the cover of midnight, the pregnant full moon shining overhead, I finally mustered up the courage to ask he the truth about the matter. I'd started working in the lumbermills, and had become interested in girls. I was charismatic and a flirt and was haplessly in love with several girls simultaneously. I was also losing my naivete. I was truly realizing what the Games were after my first Reaping, and I started seeing the injustices around the District. So I asked Grandma Circe to tell me the truth. I knew they weren't superheroes.

"Your mother had a one night stand with your father. She died giving birth to you, and your father wouldn't take you," she told me in a quiet whisper of a voice. The moonlight shone on her mess of silvery curls, standing out starkly against her maroon cloak. There was silence between us. The only things I heard was wind whistling through the trees, the crunch of leaves beneath our boots, and the glass potion bottles on the inside of Grandma Circe's cloak clinking together.

"Is my father still alive?" I asked Grandma Circe.

"Yes." That was all she said. Then we were in the clearing, with firelight painting the area orange and gold. Our worries melted from our minds as the chatter of the sorcerers and sorceresses around us melded with the shuffling of tarot cards and the crackle of the fire. I found Rowan with some of the other younger Coven members playing with some hypnotic pendulums, and Grandma Circe joined the other Elder Leaders where they were consulting some oracle bones near the fire. I didn't think about my parents again for a while as life became lovely. I was working at the lumberyard on the weekends, and at school on the weekdays I got decent grades and flirted with girls and spent time with my best friend, Rowan Blackwell, the daughter of our town's Mayor. And once a month the Coven met in the musty, aging woods of Seven outside of our decently sized town, Ainslee. Once a month, at every full moon, we congregated in the clearing and practiced magics and brewed potions and read tarot cards and crystal balls and everything else the Elders, including Grandma Circe, taught us. Sorcery was officially banned in Seven; there had been some serious outbreaks of another Coven somewhere in the deep north of the District, where they rioted and used powders and poisons to murder Peacekeepers and the town's Capitol Liaison. After that, "witchcraft" as the ignorant Capitols called it was outlawed, and anyone found practicing it would be sentenced to death with a semblance of a trial that would ultimately find the sorcerer or sorceress guilty. That leads us to the current day.

Rowan and I sat in her bedroom. We had our homework splayed out about on her bed, pencils and papers and folders and binders in a colorful, jumbled mess on top of the bed. The covers were silken, lovely, imported from One. The Blackwells were rich, as they practically ruled the larger town, at least for Seven, of Ainslee. With nine children and lots of money to spare, their house was spacious and grandoise, the furnishings over exaggerated and costly. Rowan's room was as big as the entirety of mine and Grandma Circe's shack on the fringe of Ainslee. I didn't care, however. We made enough money, Grandma selling medical potions and I working at the lumberyard, to stay alive and get a couple of luxuries, like nice clothing and candies. I never really felt jealous of Rowan, just excited whenever I got to go over her house and experience the beauty of grandeur of it. Rowan was never overly prideful of her home either, unlike some of her siblings and her parents. She was down to Earth, and that was why I appreciated having her as my best friend.

"I'm bored, how about you?" Rowan speaks up after we've been puzzling over an aggravating geometry proof on our geometry homework for several minutes. I nod in agreement. I really do hate math. Sometimes I find myself doodling runes or writing out recipes for potions in class these days instead of doing the classwork and paying attention to the teacher's lesson. Rowan has been acting the same.

Rowan pulls open the drawer of her dresser, and pulls out of bundle of socks. Inside is a pack of tarot cards. Immediately I freeze. We shouldn't be playing with things like the tarot cards out in the open. Rowan is about to pull out the first card when there is a sharp knock on the door. Rowan quickly throws the tarot cards under the bed as I pull open the door to reveal our visitor.

Mayor Blackwell is checking in on us. He steps into the room and inspects it, making sure that we're not fooling around. He sees our geometry homework spread out on the floor in front of us, pencils in hand, and he turns to leave when he spots something out of the corner of his eyes. We both freeze up as he strolls over to Rowan's dresser and pulls out a second pack of tarot cards that had fallen out of the sock bundle.

"R-rowan?!" Mayor Blackwell stutters incredulously. "Are these...these yours? Are you par-part of the Coven?!"

Rowan and I are frozen. There is nothing we can do. Maybe they'll go easy on Rowan. She is Mayor Blackwell's daughter, after all. Maybe they'll just flog her nice and easy, maybe one lash or two and then she never has to do anything with the Coven ever again.

"Rowan, you know the new law they passed in Ashburgh. Every suspect of witchcraft is to be hanged. Rowan..."

"They're mine, sir. I'm using some of my powers to make her hide them here," I pipe up suddenly. Mayor Blackwell looks equal parts relieved and frustrated. He pulls out a high tech Capitol phone from his pocket, and calls someone.

"Peacekeeper Grimm? Yes, I have a boy by the name of Baron Arbor. He's a suspect of witchcraft. Yes, I'll hold him in until you get here."

And just like that, I am sentenced to death. Rowan starts to cry but I quiet her. I have a plan, a risky plan. I am strong, able with an axe, good with potions and medicines and edible plants. I have just the plan to survive this. And when I win, I'll have enough money to buy Grandma Circe enough potion supplies to last her a lifetime. And when I win, maybe I'll finally find the right girl and my insatiable hunger for love will be fulfilled. And when I win, I'll be revered, and I'll show everyone what a sorcerer really is like, and they we're not all crazy savages who murder Peacekeepers.

And when I win, I'll show them all.

* * *

 **A/N: Today we had Ivy and Baron, created by Mystical Pine Forest and xxbookwormmockingjayxx. Thanks you two for this truly special pair, it was a great pleasure to write them, and I can't wait to explore them further later on in the story.**

 **Sorry that Baron's was decently longer than Ivy's, but I felt like to explore Baron's character and explain his backstory I needed to make his a little longer. I contemplated adding more to Ivy's but I felt like that would tamper with the effect and flow of her POV, so I left it as is. I'm pretty sure this was our longest intro chapter yet. :D**

 **So far, the option of 12 goodbyes and 12 trains on the poll is winning by 3 votes, and that was what I was going to do probably anyway, so that's going to be my plan of action after we get all of these introductions over with.**

 **So, I would like to tell you about 2 SYOTs by reviewers who were inspired by this story to start their own SYOTs like it. Neither of their tributes have yet to show up in this story but they will soon.**

 **First off, we have Royal Blood: the 110th Hunger Games by maiakenna. Maia is a great friend of mine and she's been planning out this story for a while, so I have faith that she'll do well with this story.**

 **Second off, we have Brutality: 34th Hunger Games by IlluminatingSpirit. Spirit is also a faithful reader and I'm getting to know her. Just like Maia she's nice and capable, and I have faith that she'll do well with her story.**

 **If neither of these stories finish you can blame me for recommending them xD but nevermind that. I have tributes in both so this may or may not be a selfish act of "go submit so I can see my tributes!" or it may be Tracee trying to be friendly (hint, it's a combination of both.) But go submit! Panem needs you to create more cannon fodder for them!**

 **Who did you like better, Ivy or Baron? Overall thoughts on this pair? Predicted placements? Thoughts on the writing?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	14. District Eight: Flora and Fauna

**A/N: Here's an early Christmas gift, a second update in only one weekend! Here we have District Eight! Enjoy, everyone!**

 **Side Note: Baron from the previous chapter is descended from some of the "witches" involved in the Salem witch trials. Some of his Coven's skills, like the potions, are actually real and can be used to heal as sort of medicines, while others, like the tarot cards, are just a fake part of their rituals. Their Coven is almost like a magic lover's club. Think Dumbeldore's Army in HP. xD**

 **No trigger warnings! Hooray! XD**

* * *

 _You would not believe your eyes_

 _If ten million fireflies_

 _Lit up the world as I fell asleep_

 _'Cause they fill the open air_

 _And leave teardrops everywhere_

 _You'd think me rude but I would just stand and stare_

 _I'd like to make myself believe that planet earth turns slowly_

 _It's hard to say that I'd rather stay awake when I'm asleep_

 _'Cause everything is never as it seems_

* * *

 _ **Gaia Imani, 15**  
_

 ** _Resident of District 8_**

 ** _Factory Worker and Student at Gwinnett High_**

"Bobbin!" I call softly. "Bobbbb-iiiiin!" I hear my little brother's high pitched giggles, and I roll my eyes. His overalls and gray work shirt are folded in my arms. It's time to head to the factory. Bobbin is only seven years old; he only started working a couple of weeks ago, and he doesn't quite get it yet. He has a calm, practiced hand and a tendency to keep things neat, just like me. That's why they're paying him two cents more per hour, just like they do with me. And while he might be unnaturally good with a needle and thread for a seven year old, he _is_ still seven years old. He is happy and energetic and naive and wonderfully oblivious, floating in a state of perpetual bliss. Heck, he even manages to forget that his father is dead somehow.

"Bobbin, come on, we're really going to be late for work. We can play hide and seek when we get home," I coo. Bobbin sighs and pops up from his hiding place underneath his small, worn cot. It lays next to mine in our small, cramped bedroom. The next room over is the kitchen/living room/bathroom/every other room, and the room after that is the minimally larger bedroom where my mother's cushy bed and my little two year old sister Satin's crib is found. Our apartment is small and dull, but all four of us find ways to dream past its dingy plaster walls. Mom has her writing, Bobbin his fantastical imagination, and Satin her extreme youth. And I have my notebook and colored pencils and flora books, rented over and over from the library.

I help Bobbin into his ratty gray shirts and stained overalls. Things don't get washed much around here. There isn't much point, my best friend Cotton told me one day when I complained about my own overalls being crusty and oily. She said things will get dirty again, so what was the use? I like things clean and neat, however. Everyone in my family, except my father when he was still around, is like that.

Bobbin and I stroll out into the center room. Mom has two steaming bowls of porridge waiting for us, sitting on the small mahogany table in the center of the room. There's also a big, beat up brown leather couch and an old TV by the window, and on the other side of the room is the stove and the tiny fridge and a couple of cabinets which cling to the wall, out of place really. I help Bobbin into his chair, and I sit down in my own. We spoon the porridge into our mouths. Bobbin eats his eagerly. It's Saturday, and mom has added a dash of sugar to our porridge.

"Happy half birthday, Gaia," she says with a wry smile. I grin wide back. Sugar is a rare commodity. My mom has had the same small bag of sugar in our cabinets since before I was born. When she uses some of it, it's a special day. After we finish our breakfasts and clean up, I hug her tight. She's always so thin and bony, but we all are like that, aren't we? Even Bobbin and Satin are sharp and angular and stick figure like.

"Can you pick up Satin from the Weave's after work? I have to stay at the school late today, we're having a big staff meeting." My mother works at my high school, Gwinnett High. She's an English teacher, and has taught us the importance of the written and spoken word, as well as the value of creativity. When my father worked, too, we had enough to afford commodities like sugar regularly. Since the factory accident, a few sprinkles of sugar on special days are the only special things in my life. Well, a few sprinkles of sugar and a book of colorful flora.

I grab my notebook and my colored pencils and slide them into my work bag, which holds my needles and threads and my ID badge. It's small, more of a clutch than a bag, really. Bobbin has his own, too. I hold onto his hand tight as we walk down the many flights of stairs until we reach the ground floor. The apartment owner, a slow older woman named Mrs. Thodsen, unlocks the front door for us. She always keeps it locked so the bandits and homeless people can't come in. She's not paranoid or crazy. Murders and theft are commonplace in Eight. There are so many desperate people out on the streets. My family is lucky we're not like them. If my mom didn't have such a well paying job to keep us all fed adequately and gave us decent housing, we'd be out on the streets just like so many others.

Mrs. Thodsen holds open the door, shielding her eyes from the blinding light of the mid morning sun. The scrappy cobbled street the apartment complex sits on is coated with trash and emaciated beggars. Most don't even beg for anything, because they've been out here long enough to know the laws that govern Eight. Those that do not have enough are willing to share but do not have enough to share. Those who have enough are never willing to share despite their surplus. We have barely anything extra, and as selfish as it is, I can't give my dashes of sugar to these people lying on the streets. My heart breaks whenever I see them, but trying to help them all would just make me one of them. Everyone whose lived in Eight has seen it happen to someone before. You give and no one gives back, and you're left with nothing, and no one's better off for your troubles.

I pull Bobbin along. He quiets down and is respectful and smart, not staring at the homeless like most kids his age do, inquisitive and wide eyed and pointing, asking _Why are they sleeping on the sewer grate?_ Bobbin keeps his head down and squeezes his work clutch tight in his hands until his little nimble fingers are turning white from the pressure. I squeeze his other hand, the one I hold, reassuringly. He just squeezes back weakly, tiredly. How early they rob children of their innocence in Eight. How early they try and rip our childhoods away.

The factory comes into sight soon enough. It's a sore thumb in the vast, tightly packed residential part of Eight's main city, Tweed. It's an industrial beast towering over the tiny residential insects that crowd around its paws. It belches black smoke and its roar is the sound of a thousand stitching needles and a million mechanical looms. Thousands of us mill around its intestines, producing every single Peacekeeper uniform that is found in the entirety of Panem. Step after step, we get closer to the giant behemoth. Bobbin was scared the first time he came here, and he's still hesitant. I was the same way when I started.

We walk through the front doors. By now we've joined a thin stream of workers heading in. Most head towards the main parts of the factory, where they unload the bolts of cloth from other parts of the District that are needed to make the uniforms. In the main areas they also control the machines that craft the uniforms and supervise and fix the machines when they break down. They also do quality control to check that there is no errors, and then there's some that package the uniforms and take them out to the loading docks, where they're put on shipping trucks. Bobbin and I work in a small wing of the factory. The receptionist, Cady, doesn't even look up as we walk past. The sign above her desk proclaims "WELCOME TO THE REFURBISHING WING."

We enter the large room where we work. Long wooden tables painted white fill the room. Half of the others are already here. It's mostly younger kids between ages six and eighteen, although there's several people in their twenties all the way up to Alice, who is around seventy or something like that. In the next fifteen minutes the other spots fill up. Bobbin and I sit next to each other; the third seat at our table is occupied by a girl a couple of years old than me named Jersa. Our supervisor, a forty something year old man named Bruce Allard enters the room. He makes all of us eighteen or younger call him Mr. Allard. He's a rather pompous man with nothing to back up his ridiculous pride and delusions of superiority.

"We have a shipment back from Six. We've got you standard rips and tears, some bullet holes, a knife wound, some burn marks. Our more experienced workers will be working on cleaning up the burns. Rest of you, you're on stitching duty," Mr. Allard instructs.

He plops down several uniforms on our table. I select one, Bobbin a second one, Jersa a third. I find the first rip on this uniform, and pull out my white thread and start deftly fixing the tear, sewing it together almost like sewing up a wound. Bobbin and Jersa do the same. Our seams are nearly invisible, small and hidden. No one will notice the tiny imperfections of the Peacekeeper uniforms once we're done with them and they're sent back to Six.

The first half of the day passes in a blur, and lunch break is being called before I know it. I become so easily absorbed in my work, stitching away dutifully. I'm one of the better "refurbish-ers". Yeah, that's our wacky official title.

We all march into the cafeteria, and grab our plastic trays. We get cold mashed potatoes and rubbery pork in some sort of sweet and sour sauce, crunchy something or other crumbled over the top. It's not very delicious, but relatively its a delicacy compared to the porridge we have every morning, sugar or no sugar. Bobbin is chattering with another very young girl around his age who has a cute face and dirty blonde hair in adorable pigtails. I pull out my notebook and colored pencils from my work clutch, and I begin thumbing through the pages.

Every flower, every vine, every tree, every bush, every fruit ever found in the Games fills this notebook, and then some, as I sketch every plant I can find in the old botanical books of days gone past. My obsession and hobby began when I was four. It's the first Games I can remember, the 10th Hunger Games. There was blood and horrors aplenty that year, but all I saw were the bright blue oceans and the tan sands. But what grabbed my attention the most were the tall, elegant trees, the poisonous duskfruit, the pastel flowers, the hardy dune grasses, the waxy water cup flowers, the fungi, the roots, and everything else. Later on in my life, when they replayed those Games to show the power of the Capitol and the horror of the Games, and to showcase the infamous Headmistress, Serephina Manchas, I learned other things. I saw how so many tributes, so many so young, survived off of the various plants in the arena, exploiting them for survival purposes. I became enamored, and I've been addicted to botany ever since. In a perfect world, I would live in Eleven, tending to a garden of my own at home while every day I would care for apple trees in an orchard or the watermelons in a watermelon patch. I would grow rows of pastel flowers in front of my home, and I'd fill the backyard (because they actually _have_ backyards in Eleven) with saplings and bushes galore. In a perfect world, I would be happy, and not sewing mindlessly day in and day out.

In a perfect world, everything would be perfect. But things are never perfect. Things never even come close.

* * *

 _I'm so fancy_

 _You already know_

 _I'm in the fast lane_

 _From L.A. to Tokyo_

 _I'm so fancy_

 _Can't you taste this gold_

 _Remember my name, 'bout to blow_

 _I said baby, I do this, I thought that, you knew this_

 _Can't stand no haters and honest, the truth is_

* * *

 ** _Calico D'Amboise, 14_**

 ** _Resident of District 8_**

 ** _Student at Clasp Prep_**

Holly, Lacey, and Sharron crowd around me as I lift the brass latch that keeps their small enclosure closed. I push open the waist height wooden gate. My boots squelch in the mud, and I try to ignore the fact that my nice boots are getting dirty. I shouldn't have worn my Vera Gunnar boots today. I remember last time I wore Vera Gunnar boots into the Angora goat pen. They were in the trash the next day and my parents had a conniption. But it would be worse to take them off and go barefoot, especially now that dad's sick and mom is more critical than ever. Whenever I get fed up with her and I'm about to explode, I come out here. And, anyway, it's feeding time. Holly, Lacey, and Sharron see the fat silvery bucket I can barely in my hands, nearly overflowing with their daily meal of tan colored pellets made of grain and other plants, along with nutrients to keep them healthy. I grunt in exertion as I tip the heavy bucket into the trough. I've done this every day since I got the goats two years ago and it's still a struggle. My body isn't good at building muscle mass.

As the goats crane their necks over the edge of the trough and then start to chow down hungrily, I stroke their soft hair. It's getting long, and soon it will be time to shear it off. Angora goat hair makes a prized type of fabric called mohair that's been all the rage in the Capitol as of late. My goats' fur sells for big bucks at the market, as if my family needs the money. With my Grandma Tammi the Mayor of our outskirts town called Button, and my mother and father working part time supervising the factory that everyone in our small town works at, we're the richest family in Button. Button's a suburb of sorts of the main city, Gwinnett. It's a ten minute drive to Gwinnett, and my cousins live in the richer, nicer areas of Gwinnett. My school, Angelika Clasp's Preperatory School for Young Ladies and Gentlemen, commonly referred to as Clasp Prep, is in the rich area of Gwinnett, near the houses of my cousins.

I travel back inside, into the kitchen. Our maid Garlinda is chopping cloves of garlic for our dinner, some sort of rich beef soup that she makes every other Wednesday. I ignore her as I set down the bucket in the stainless steel sink and turn on the faucet. The water pours into the bucket and fills it to the brim. My face is hot from being outside in the sweltering heat of midsummer Eight, and I dunk my dark brown hands into the bucket and slather water all over my face to cool it down before I haul the bucket out of the sink. I almost fall down doing so, and Garlinda speaks up.

"Mr. Calico, would you like me to carry that bucket for you to the goat pen?" she inquires meekly.

"I am alright, Garlinda, getting back to your chopping," I snap. She looks at me with wide open eyes, and I shudder. Why does she look at me like that? I know she's judging me. Just because I'm weak and I can't run that well and I'm not the most handsome boy in Button doesn't mean she has to stare at me like that! I storm outside, almost spilling the bucket again in my haste. The goats have polished off most of their meal. I fill up the other trough in the muddy enclosure with the water, and Sharron wanders over and laps up a good helping of the water, and after Lacey and Holly finish the crumbs inside the food trough they join her at the water one. I calm down, looking at these goats. These goats don't think about me like everyone else does. They don't judge my smidge of plumpness around the waist or my thin arms or my dark brown skin and sort of long hair that make many kids mistake me for a girl. When they see who they're talking too, however, they quickly right themselves. I am Calico D'Amboise, after all. I am the grandson of Mayor Tammi D'Amboise of Button. I lead the popular clique at Clasp Prep in my grade despite the fact that everyone judges me with their eyes and ears constantly. My mother just says I'm insecure and that I need to grow up, that everyone is flawed. It isn't "insecurities". It's others being too judgmental about me! No one understands why I get so frustrated about that.

I make my way inside soon enough. It's been about an hour since school's finished. I just have some math homework, but Yuko can do that for me when she and the others come over tonight, she's always a good sport in those areas. My popular group is coming over soon. I walk back into the kitchen to find Garlinda cutting carrots now. I stride over to the granite island where she is chopping and snap to get her attention.

"Hey, Garlinda? Make some more soup if you would. Fluff, Cyan, J.T., Yuko, Athena, Magenta, Tyler, Leather, Anna, Miranda, and Greggi are coming over soon. They need to be fed, and the food you feed them's gotta be good."

"So how many people is that, Mr. Calico?" she asks timidly.

"I don't know, what do I look like, a human calculator?! Just make a lot of soup, Garlinda."

She scurries off to the pantry to retrieve more ingredients and I swear I hear her mumble something derogatory about me. Garlinda's been with us forever, but she's one of the most judgmental people I know. I ball my hands into fists when my mom comes in.

"Being insecure again, honey?" she hisses, rolling her eyes as she pulls open the fridge and grabs a bottle of glacier water, imported straight from the northern reaches of Seven. "Get over it. Sure, you do got a lot of things wrong with you."

"No but?" I snap back, and she giggles.

"I see you're fighting back today. Someone call you a fatty again before you had the other cool kids whomp them into the ground?"

"Mom, just leave me alone." I stalk away to the staircase, sprinting as fast as I can up to my room. It's not very fast. I know I shouldn't be so hard on her. My father's been sick for a while and it's been wearing on all of us, especially on Mom. She went to University in the Capitol for medicine after Grandma Tammi became Mayor of Button back when Mom was just a little girl. She's taking care of dad but is struggling to deal with the fact that doctors, along with herself, have diagnosed his disease as terminal. He's been like this for over a year, and he has over a year left to live, he just can't move around much. He just sits in bed most days, watching TV and reading books and drawing things. I pass the door to my room and walk into his instead.

On the screen is the Capitol talk show Tengotter. Asilius Tengotter is a fantastic talk show host. He sends anyone with a cultured set of humor into fits of giggles. My fahter is chuckling about some joke. Lucia Theonis is on screen with Asilius. They always seem to have the newest Victors on the Tengotter show and all the other Capitol programs we pay to get out here in Eight. Dad spots me and shuts off the TV, and I run to his bedside and squeeze him tight. He tries to hug me back, but he's too weak to do so. I just cling to him, and I know he wants to do exactly the same.

"Rough day, Cal?" he asks me, ruffling my hair. His hair, his skin, is the exact same as mine. We look nearly identical, except before my father was bed ridden he had good muscles and could run fast. I inherited his looks but not his athleticism. I wish I'd gotten his athleticism so I could keep up with the other cool kids like J.T. and Tyler who were starting to play basketball and football. When it came to sports, I sucked. The only reason people thought I was so cool was because of the clothes I wore, the money my family had, and the fact that Grandma Tammi was Mayor of Button.

"Can you just turn on Tengotter? I want to laugh until my friends get here." Dad complies, and now Asilius Tengotter is interviewing the spunky, over the top Madame Opiea Notaire, who's dressed in a highlighter orange pencil skirt and matching flowy top. We both go down in giggles before Asilius or Madame Notaire even say a word, and I'm thankful to still have my father around. He's the only person in this world that truly cares for me.

* * *

 **A/N: Today we had Gaia and Calico, courtesy of DamBaudelaires and rubykenn. Thanks for this great pair :)**

 **First off, I am so sorry for going overboard on Gaia's POV. xD I just sat down and started to write, and when I looked at the clock an hour plus had passed and I'd written over 2,000 words for her. I considered trimming it down but decided against it. I feel sort of guilty giving her so much in her opening section when everyone else had about around 1,500, but I do enjoy writing her character. xD**

 **Secondly, yes, super fast update speed, I know. I just had lots of free time this weekend and was like "why not? Let's do it, two chapters in a weekend!" While the intros are fun, I'm getting hyped to get into the Pre-Games. If I were doing normal Reaping scenes I'd be bored by now, but having the varied intro scenes makes it more fun to do. I want to polish off the intros by the end of the month, and I think I should be able to do that rather easily, or at least I hope so. We'll see.**

 **Thanks to everyone who has been reviewing faithfully! I love you all and I cherish all of your thoughts and opinions of the tributes. I always take everything you guys say into consideration, and I really appreciate all the reviews. It just makes me smile to think that I'm less that 50 reviews away from hitting the number of reviews I had for Oceanside, and we're not even done with the intros yet. :D You are all so amazing.**

 **(Does anyone want to bet how many reviews this story will have at the end? Closest guesser gets bragging rights for eternity! xD)**

 **But shenanigans aside. Who did you like better, Gaia or Calico? Overall thoughts on this pair? Predicted placements? Thoughts on the writing?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	15. District Nine: Photos and Stampedes

**A/N: And today we have District Nine! :D I like this pair a lot, just as I like every pair of tributes I've gotten xD this is going to be hard, killing them off. Well, anyways, enjoy. We're not even in the Capitol yet. Let's not start thinking about our Victor quite yet. (Screams inside when I realize I haven't the slightest idea who'll be Victor.)**

 **Trigger Warning: Profanity**

* * *

 _Summer has come and passed_

 _The innocent can never last_

 _Wake me up when September ends_

 _Ring out the bells again_

 _Like we did when spring began_

 _Wake me up when September ends_

* * *

 ** _Saffronelle "Sage" Alumius, 15_**

 ** _Resident of District 9_**

 ** _Laborer and Student at Reynolds High_**

My olive colored skin glistens in the light of the sun-bulbs as I toil over the golden wheat field. Sweat beads at my brow, and I breathe in and out evenly, liking the feeling of the balmy air sliding in and out of my lungs. The artificial sun beats down on me, but my wide sunhat blocks the sun from burning my face and neck, although my arms are tinged red a bit from their exposure to the sun. Sunscreen's hard to come by in Nine.

You might be a little confused. Artificial sun, sun-bulbs? What are those?

Nine is a mostly industrial place to most people's surprise. One of the four main port cities, Sorghum, is one of the most industrialized. We produce flour and breads and cheap alcohol for the Districts, along with other products with our grains. All of it takes chemicals and gasoline and machinery to do. But to produce the best, fastest growing, hardiest, cheapest to grow grain in Panem, it needs to be genetically modified. That's where the greenhouse labs, sunny and natural on the fringes of the smoggy, mechanical beast that is Sorghum, come into the equation.

In these greenhouse labs, agriculture specialists from around the District, some of the richest people in our District, work to breed different species of grain to get a certain genotype and phenotype out of them. They breed them for their hardiness, their speed, their price tag, their durability, their flavor, and their uses. The specialists are usually cooped up in their labs, cross breeding varieties and splicing genes and all that jazz. Then, when they have a new variety or species of grain they want to try out, they come out of their labs and enter the vast majority of the breeding facility; the fake fields.

There are several fields, which, using special Capitol technology, can have their temperatures and terrains changed to match that of the places this grain will be grown over the vast expanse of our District. They plant their new types of grain and watch to see how they grow and fare, and how they turn out. They observe and study, and look on while people like me and my friend Aluma till the fields, plant the seeds, and water and raise the grain plants. I often wonder why they don't use machines for this job, but then again in the tiny villages that are sprinkled out throughout the back country of Nine, most people plant and raise their crops by hand. I guess machines raising the plants would add an extra variable or something of that ilk.

A tinny bell rings out throughout the greenhouse, and we all immediately stop working. The lunch bell. Many of the older workers hang up their sickles and scythes and watering cans, instead picking up their silvery lunch pails supplied by the laboratory owners to feed their workers. Aluma and I, along with some of the other teenagers that work here, hang up our supplies before grabbing our backpacks and burlap lunch sacks from one small, off shoot room by the door. I heave my book bag over my shoulder, lifting the heavy, book laden bag rather easily. This work in the laboratories has made me decently strong, and very strong compared to most of the people that live here in Sorghum. People in the port cities and usually weak and tired. Not me.

Aluma and I laugh uproariously at jokes we crack as we walk with the other kids towards our sector's schools. Rutledge Elementary, Rhye Middle, and Reynolds High are all connected into one super-complex of a school that contains well over four thousand kids on any given day. Our laughter slices through the shaded, quiet avenues of Sorghum. The air's stifling, as little wind gets past the thick curtain of uneven buildings to cool off the people street level. Sorghum is a down trodden, ugly place, but I make up for it in my joy and hilarity and optimism. Well, at least when I'm not...off.

"We have to tell the others that joke!" Aluma mumbles, still in stitches, as we approach the schools. One boy who works with us, a couple of years older, glares at us. Nothing could mess with my happy right now, however. I just strike him down with a smile before Aluma and I march into the school. We split to go to our respective lockers, and we meet back up in the communal lunch room. Other kids start coming in. Since nearly everyone in the city of Sorghum works once they hit age 6, the age minimum for working in the factories, school doesn't start until lunch time, when every kid is released from his or her job to go to school for a good four or five hours before they can either head back to work or head back to home. Homework is sparse and teachers are lenient, and it's a system that encourages trouble makers and an overall sense of "I don't give a fuck." At least my friends and I try to do decently in school. We all succeed most of the time.

Aluma and I sit down at our usual table, and I stare at her flowy black hair. I reach out and start braiding it French style. My own braid, with my red hair, is a French braid. Aluma doesn't object. She's used to me touching her hair and randomly tapping or poking her. She's just so cute, and I love playing with her hair and looking at her. She's the best friend a girl could ever ask for, and I'm happy to be friends with her.

Soon enough the other core members of our friend group are sitting at the table. Wheata, Trish, and Iliana all work in the factories. I brush some soot off of Trish's shoulder when she sits down on the other side of me, and she just grins tiredly.

"Wanna hear a joke? It's dirty and I think we woke up the whole West Side laughing when Aluma told it," I say with a slight grin to cheer them up. Trish and Wheata perk up, although Iliana just sags even more, opening her lunch sack. Iliana has a rough home life. I go sit down by her and start braiding her hair as Aluma prepares to tell the joke, acting like its the best joke on earth, not a dirty little sucker of a joke that makes you laugh hard until you realize it's really not that funny.

"Well, a orphanage girl and the Capitol Liaison's son meet up under the assorter..."

Everyone's in giggles for a couple of minutes, and I laugh along too. It _is_ a good pump you up joke. Even Iliana hiccups out a few warbling laughs, and I squeeze her tight before moving back to my seat between Aluma and Trish. A few kids take away our extra chairs, and another girl we know well named Centra sits down and starts chatting with Iliana. I smile and dig into my lunch, admiring my friends.

Leaving the lunch room later in the day, a boy a year younger than me walks past and knocks my books out of my hand. I turn and look at him sharply, and he scurries off. What a fucking brat. He thinks he's _soooo_ cool, messing with a fucking freshman. He better get his ratty ass 8th grade butt over in the Rhye Middle section of the complex before I clobber him. Children like that, _so_ insufferable.

I'm just in a sour mood all day. All of my teachers are grouchy and ugly, my classmates annoying and thick headed. I huff and puff and roll my eyes, not raising my hand, not writing down answers, not giving a flying fuck about anything like the kids I sometimes despise. This life rocks. Who wouldn't want to not care about anything? It's so relaxing, and no one expects anything of you. The world is terrible anyway.

Leaving my last class, too complex Algebra with prissy Miss Scotte and a class of fucking delinquents, I spot Aluma standing by my locker along with Wheata. Trish and Iliana are already gone. Trish leaves twenty minutes early to go get a quick two hour shift in after school, and Iliana is in the counselor's office like she every Tuesday and Friday. What a twerp, she can't even deal with the fact that her mother yells at her.

"Hey, Sage, are you okay?" Aluma asks. "You seem to be...riled up again." She puts a hand on my shoulder, and I huff and step out of her grasp.

"I'm okay, leave me the fuck alone."

"Saffronelle Anne Alumius!" Wheata barks. "You never swear! What is wrong with you?!"

Aluma folds me in a hug and tells me to take deep breaths, to calm down. Annoyed, I follow her instructions, and finally she lets me go when my mind is clearing and my emotions are tampered down. I just sigh and look down at my shoes, quivering a bit.

"Th-thanks," I manage to mumble. I don't know what happens, but sometimes out of nowhere I get stuck in bad moods like from before. I'm usually cheery and optimistic, and I love class. Just some days, I get...riled up, as Aluma says. I squeeze Aluma's shoulder and smile at Wheata as we walk out of the school. I'm happy that they've brought me back down to earth. Maybe I should start visiting the counselor just like Iliana.

Once we reach the front entrance, I split from Aluma and Wheata. We all live on the same avenue about two blocks away from here, but I need to head about a block in the opposite direction to go pick up my little sister Rini from the agency. I hug Aluma and Wheata, and tell them that I'll see them for our weekly Friday sleepover in a couple of hours. Iliana and Trish live about a block from our houses, closer to the school. This week the sleepover's at Trish's house.

I skip down the sidewalk. Not many people are out at this hour; not many people are out period, excepting the mass release times of six and eight at night when the adults, everyone 19 and over, are released from work after long shifts that start around twelve hours prior to the release. A homeless man shuffles by and ignores me, rubbing his empty stomach. I don't have anything on me to give him.

Another block over, and we're in one of the mass meccas of the city, where important buildings for that sector of the city are. Each of the six sectors of Sorghum have their own Mayor, Capitol Liaison, Head Peacekeeper, and Board of Education President, among many things. One omnibus Mayor governs the entire massive city. My destination is the Capitol Liaison's house, ironically the home of the boy, Claudius Templesmith, that me and my friends were just joking about. No one pays me much attention as I approach the Capitol Liaison's house, although a gardener pruning the shrubs of the President of Laboratories' front yard gives me a sour look. He must be rather new. I come here every single weekday, after all. I pound up the steps and pull open the door by my own accord. The new gardener gives me a sharp, ruddy faced look, and I'm tempted to go explain everything to him with a smug smile. I'm tempted to tell him the Cinderella story of Rini Alumius, but I keep my mouth sealed shut, instead walking into the Capitol Liaison's house.

I immediately hear snapping and popping, and I grin as I walk into the sitting room. Rini poses in an elegant golden dress, a staple of hers, a poster proclaiming "THE CAPITOL IS ALMIGHTY!" in one hand, a small, fresh sheaf of barley and wheat in the other. She smiles and poses and repositions and flutters her eyelids. Rini is the perfect model. She's the prettiest woman I know, and I'm not saying that because she's my little sister. She's stunningly beautiful in her youth, and when she grows up she'll be able to seduce even the most steadfast and solitary men into a relationship. The Templesmith's think she's pretty, too. Claudius, their son, is her age, and he's taken a liking to her. It also turns out that they need a poster child for Capitol propaganda aimed towards District Nine, and Mrs. Templesmith is a great photographer. It turned out that the Capitol was willing to pay a lot for a pretty poster child, and now Rini Alumius' face is plastered across the billboards and walls of District Nine. Our family has gone from the poorest in my friend group to the richest in a matter of months, and it's all due to Rini.

"Sage, _darling!"_ Rini shouts, setting down her poster and sheaf and running to my side, clinging to me in a tight hug. She likes to pretend to be fancy in the Templesmith household; she really likes Claudius as well, and wants to impress him.

"Here's the week's earnings, Sage," Mrs. Templesmith says politely, handing me an envelope stuffed with cash. I thank her, and then I lead Rini out of the house. The gardener looks at us, surprised, recognizing Rini's face. She waves graciously, and he waves shyly back. I grin as I lead my emerging-as-a-District-celebrity sister down the sidewalk, squeezing her hand tight. Thanks to her, the possibilities in life are endless. I don't have to be stuck in a factory for the rest of my life.

Thanks to her, I can be Sage Alumius, and not some poor girl dying in the slums.

* * *

 _When you tear it all apart, it's just DNA_

 _Destroying what we fear_

 _Hate is such an ancient game_

 _When we're all that we have left, yet we aim to kill_

 _Pretending that we're made of steel_

 _Living in a battlefield_

 _Gonna count up the chromosomes, do the math, make a clone_

 _Someone who will understand so I don't feel all alone_

* * *

 ** _Luke Saturn, 17_**

 ** _Resident of District 9_**

 ** _Laborer and Student at Harvey County Academic Center_**

There's a wavy strip of land, miles and miles long and wide, between Nine and Ten that confuses the locals. There's no signs, no fences, no markers of any type. Nine overlaps into Ten and vice versa, our two massive Districts melting together a bit at their edges. Harvey County is half true Nine, half Midland, as the seemingly shared space is called. Some people ranch, some people milk, some people plant, some people harvest, and some people leave because the area just makes no sense. But I live in the Midland, and I love it here. I'm considered a fully fledged citizen of Nine since I was born in one of the port cities before my parents moved out here when I was three to escape the traffic and smog and violence of the giant port cities like Sorghum and Durum. That's why I have pale white skin and spiky, white-blonde hair unlike almost everyone else in the town, who have skin varying from light olive to deep, midnight dark black. Many people out here, however, don't have a District allegiance really. Our small village, Ropin, is officially marked a village of Nine by the Capitol, although a fourth of our residents were born or lived in the solidly Ten part of District Ten. The only reason it matters if we're Nine or Ten is because of the Reaping, and then only two kids are taken every year from Ropin and sent to the Capitol. No one's ever been Reaped from Ropin in the biggest port city, Durum, and I sincerely doubt anyone's been Reaped out of the Midlands before. Heck, a colored kid from the outer villages only shows up in the port cities every couple of years as the final tribute. Usually they're just frail, skinny, paler-than-snow port citizens that usually are on the younger end of the spectrum when Reaped, exactly the way I would have turned out had my parents decided to keep our little family in Durum. Then again, if we'd kept ourselves in Durum, we'd live a shitty life, but at least I wouldn't be the only Saturn left alive.

Surter skips ahead of me, smiling. He's 11, and his back is still somewhat straight, his smile still carefree, his eyes clear, his mind gullible. I love the kid. He has a ton of younger siblings, a bedridden grandmother, and two parents who can't work hard enough to provide for all of them. They're the only people left in the world that I'm empathetic to. I met Surter when he was six, all alone, working in the fields and quivering, unable to lift a sheaf of wheat, not to mention a sickle or a scythe. I helped him learn and become stronger so he wouldn't be kicked out. He reminded me of my father, happy and kind and naive, unburdened by the world somehow despite growing up a poor child in Durum. Since all of the kids in Surter's family are too young to take tesserae, I take some for them. I don't really care; I could care less if I went into the Games. I don't have much to life for. What life will I have? After I'm out of Reaping age Surter's family won't need me to help them anymore, and no girl or guy will want to start a family with me; I am notoriously cold, emotionless, solitary, and a little mad to most. I'm not really mad; they just don't understand my opinions. Life is rough; I learned that too early. Everything is earned, nothing is given. Anything good in life is flimsy. People are horrible, despicable creatures. I am offputting. I would make a terrible husband and father. So all I have in life is my field duties. I'm good, but it's boring work.

As Surter stops and waves for me to catch up to him, a sharp whistle pierces the air.

"STAMPEDE!" the field supervisor screeches, and everything falls to shambles. It's the first time Surter has seen Luke Saturn scared; hell, it's the first time _anyone_ has seen Luke Saturn scared since he wandered into the main town from his family's little hut on the fringe of the town, bloody and dusty and his eyes bugged out, tears dripping down his round cheeks as he screamed and screamed and screamed.

In the Midlands, Nine and Ten overlap. We've been over this. Well, the Midlands are the crappiest parts supply wise in both Nine and Ten. We receive the worst sickles and scythes, the worst plows, the worst livestock, the worst hoes, the worst seeds, and the worst fences. Animals break free often.

It was a sickly hot day in July when my innocence was knocked out of me in the same fashion of the life being knocked out of someone when a full grown steer, angry and riled up, smashes into their chest and plows them to the ground.

I was sitting inside on my cot, a board book in my hands. It's sad how clear the details are of that day despite my young age. I can't remember anything from birth to age seven except this day, this wretched day. I remember the board book was mostly blue and had pictures of sea creatures inside of it. I was using my chubby little fingers to flip through it; I couldn't read, but I loved the pictures. Mommy was outside tending the garden, and Daddy was getting the eggs out of our family's tiny little chicken coop. We had a nice house for Ropin, as my parents had saved up while still living in Durum.

The steers had broken out of their pasture several miles away, and shouts and calls of stampede spread like wildfire throughout the city and countryside, but our tiny ranch house was so far set back from the others and so secluded, behind a small grove of trees, that no one came to warn us. I put down my board book after flipping to the last page, and I stood on my wobbly little legs and looked out the windowpane to see the enraged steers crumple both of my parents into the ground. I didn't know what really happened until the steers were long gone and I went to ask Mommy and Daddy why they were sleeping on beds of red grass. I asked how they got the grass to be red. I poked them for hours until the sun was setting and I knew something was wrong. I stumbled all the way to the center of town pleading for help. People came out and took me inside, and the memory blurs and fuzzes and my next memory is working in the fields at age 8.

My parents were claimed by a herd of stampeding steers, so when I hear the yell I break down. Mad Luke, the cold, dead-inside boy who lost his parents too early, screams his head off and sprints as fast as he can away to safety, to the safety of his Mommy's arms and his Daddy's voice.

"SURTER! RUN!" I grab him by the waist. He protests, and starts pointing at something, but I scream for him to shut up. I heave him over my shoulder, and I sprint as fast as I can. Suddenly there's a rock underfoot and I'm flying to the ground. Surter rolls out of my arms, groaning quietly, and I quake in fear, whimpering, tears streaming down my cheeks as shadows approach, covering my body. I curl in a ball and wait for the hooves to plow into me.

"Hah! Mad Luke's a little baby at heart!" I open my eyes to slits to see two annoying kids a year older than me, Terrance and Copler, laughing. They hold the whistle, and Terrance is the field supervisor's son; they have almost the same exact voice.

"Scared of a itsy bitsy cow, Mad Luke?" Copler asks, guffawing. "What will they do, kill ya?"

I leap to my feet, growling, and punch him so hard that I knock his lights out in one punch. Terrance quickly disappears, and I kick a shower of rocks and dirt onto the passed out Copler and leave him there, walking to Surter's side and helping him to his feet.

"Let's go boy," I snap. "Your momma will need that week's salary to go buy dinner." Surter doesn't say a word, just dutifully following me.

* * *

 **A/N: Today we had Sage and Luke, courtesy of maiakenna and Aldon Blackreyne. Thanks for this awesome pair. Today we also had the biggest chapter yet (me writing for like an hour straight and writing way too much for one tribute happened again xD).**

 **Again, overboard, this time on Sage's POV. Hey, I am counting this into my Nano word count, so what the heck? xD**

 **I meant to get this out yesterday, but life happened. No double weekend post again, but with Thanksgiving break approaching I'll get a couple of chapters out by next Sunday, don't you worry. :D**

 **Thanks for reviewing, everyone! We're probably going to break 200 reviews before we finish off the Reapings and I cannot thank you guys enough. I know I always almost say this but it needs to be said repeatedly BECAUSE Y'ALL ARE THE BEST!**

 **And, one last note before questions: I think I made a backstory for Claudius Templesmith in Sage's POV? Daaaaaamn Tracee.**

 **Who did you like better, Sage or Luke? Overall thoughts on this pair? Predicted placements? Thoughts on the writing?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	16. District Ten: Soccer and Dirtbikes

**A/N: And today, District Ten! I'm happy with this pair, and I hope you enjoy reading about them. :)**

 **Trigger Warning: None**

* * *

 _This is for all you girls about thirteen,_

 _High school can be so rough can be so mean,_

 _Hold on to on to your innocence,_

 _Stand your ground when everybody's givin' in._

 _This one's for the girls_

* * *

 ** _Miriam Park, 13_**

 ** _Resident of District 10_**

 ** _Student at Rinds Middle School_**

 _Tweet!_

The referee flashes a yellow card my way, glaring sternly. I look at him, shrugging it off like I didn't do anything although Betty McKee is glaring at me, her pretty blue eyes narrowed into tiny slits. She's red faced, and she's rubbing a sore spot on her side. Oh, what? Sorry, I just elbowed Betty when I was going in for the kick and she was hurtling right at me. Betty's infamous for her illegal modified slide tackles that always get by the refs somehow. I'd rather chance a yellow than being plowed down and getting injured and being out for the rest of the season. And no one scores a goal on me.

A yellow card is just to caution a player, telling them that they're close to getting a red card, but Coach Anne pulls me anyway. She always pulls people when they have a card called on them. Lora Beady takes my place, and I watch with energy bubbling in my chest as Betty McKee gets away with an illegal slide tackle, kicking the soccer ball to her team's best scorer, my best female friend, Sierra Scolil. She's one of the only girls in my school that I can actually stand, and we're great buddies. But on the soccer field, friendships are worth as much as the turf stuck to my cleats. It's me versus her, and I only feel half happy when she manages to juke out our goalie, Bulla, out and score the third goal of the game. They're up by two now. I just fold my arms and watch as the last minutes tick by; the score doesn't change, and Coach Anne won't put me back in. She's telling me to stop playing rough, I know, but the team's hurting. I'm good at my position. I can hold of Betty even without illegal moves; the shove was just the only thing I could do in time. Lora barely keeps Betty from stealing the ball a couple of times, and I commend her effort when she comes back to the bench when the game's over. We've lost, but we're still the second best team in the division, just behind the team that has just beaten us, the Steers. We're the Broncos, and the other two teams in our league are the Boars and the Roosters. I've played soccer since I can remember.

I pile into Coach Anne's old gray van with the other girls that don't have a ride; Lora, Dana McThaid, and Igga Thompson. I'm decent friends with Dana and Igga; they're at least bearable. Lora, while quiet on the field from nerves, is pretty rowdy and normal-insecure-naive-plays-stupid-girly-girl type. I can't really stand girls like that, but in our big country town, most of the girls are clones of Lora, only different in appearance.

The soccer fields are just past the city limits. As we leave them behind, we pass the sign reading _Welcoming to Latticeville!_ It's thick and painted and wooden, made by the District government, also known as the Panemian government, also known as the Capitol. It's too colorful and oblivious in a landscape of livestock pens and slaughterhouses. A second sign, a plasticky white lawn sign, reads _¡_ _Bienvenido a Latticeville!_ There's dozens of small villages scattered throughout Ten that speak exclusively the thought to be extinct language of _español,_ and everyone knows how to greet and sing and count and inquire in the language. It's just the way of our District. Coach Anne's Hispanic; so is Lora. Dana and I have a dash of it in our veins. It's just the way it is here.

Coach Anne's van is old and slow, from before the Dark Days. Here in Ten, since we butt up against Six, cars are common in the suburbs. Ten isn't a very rich District; our two big cities, Pronge and Marrow, and our hundreds of minuscule villages, are as poor as dirt, but nearly everyone in the suburbs is decently rich. My family's on the lower side in Latticeville, which is a rich suburb among rich suburbs. A lot of people are rich via inheritance from prior to the creation of Panem, putting back what they take from the family inheritance via nice, hard work, and then passing the wealth on down to the next generation.

But anyway, everyone's already long gone by the time Coach Anne gets the van up and running. We drive slow into the city. Thankfully my house is the closest, so I get dropped off first. Coach Anne rolls up smoothly onto our gravel driveway. I grab my soccer bag from the trunk and then say thanks before waving and then running into the garage. Coach Anne pulls out and drives away as I step into the house, setting down my soccer bag with a clatter on the hardwood.

"I'm home!" I shout, not expecting a response. My mother's stuck in bed, probably asleep, and she's a heavy sleeper. Dad's working his butt off at the slaughterhouse right now. I don't know how I'll be able to work there when I'm older. It's not the blood that bothers me, it's the monotony, the normality, the lifestyle of working ten hour days that are exactly the same. Schedules are a bit pesky to me for some reason. I like being free to do whatever I please whenever I want.

I walk past my mom's room on my way to my room. As predicted, she's sound asleep. She looks so frail and fragile, like a porcelain doll, under the puffy buttercream colored covers. She doesn't sense me, she just keeps snoring on softly. I stand in the doorway, watching her, and I let out a defeated sigh. It's been almost a year since she got sick; cancer, the town doctor calls it. The only treatment is in the Capitol, and of course we can't afford to send Mom there. We live the sham of being a rich family in a rich suburb town, but really we're dirt poor. The signs are showing. Peeling wallpaper and paint. Cloudy windows. My dad walking to work because he doesn't have the money to fix his pickup truck. My clothes, threadbare and worn twice or thrice before being cleaned. Our eyes, empty, tired, hollow, hidden behind lovely smiles. We have an inheritance of our own. We share it with my dad's brother, Uncle Jimmy. Well, we used to, before he died from alcoholism three years ago. He sapped the funds dry in his quest to relinquish sobriety, leaving our once rather rich family with barely enough money to pay the bills and feed and clothe ourselves, not to mention buy treatment for Mom. It hurts, but I think we've all come to accept that one day I'll come home from my soccer game, Dad from the slaughterhouse, and she'll just be gone. It'll hurt, but it feels like she's been dead for a year since she was diagnosed. I've already grieved plenty. I can't imagine I'll grieve even more after she's truly gone, but I know I will.

I leave the threshold of my mother's room, rubbing the back of my head thoughtfully. I sigh again, and push thoughts of my mother from my mind, instead walking down to the very end of the hall. I push open the wooden door, a bit of peeling white paint flaking off as I nudge the door open with my shoulder. The door squeaks closed on its own as I sit down on my bed. I pull of my socks, my shirt, my shorts, everything. Stark naked, I then head into the bathroom, the room next door. I remove a towel and a wash cloth and turn on the water all the way to the hottest setting; it comes out lukewarm. Soon I have coated myself in suds, and I let the lukewarm water slowly cool down to an icy cold. Even then, I just stand in the shower, trying to think about my friends, about soccer, about school, about the Games, about anything but a coffin and a tumor and a mother, cold, dead.

Eventually the water shuts off on its own accord; the Capitol only supplies shower water in Latticeville for fifteen minutes max, and that's more than in the big cities and the tiny villages and in Districts like Eight, Nine, Eleven, and Twelve. I step out, towel drying myself as I look over my skinny, bony figure in the cloudy mirror. I wring out my hair and then wrap the damp towel around my body before I walk off to my bedroom again.

Once I have a clean pair of shorts and a shirt on, I hear the front door banging open. I start grinning as I burst out of my room and sprint into the waiting arms of my father. He's still in his slaughterhouse uniform, plain white and smelling of bleach, his hairnet still on. He tears it off when we break our embrace, and then he starts chuckling as we walk together to Mom's room. His laugh is like a spell; she wakes up almost immediately, and smiles weakly as my father presses his lips lightly against her forehead. I sit on the foot of her bed, and we talk and smile and are a family. I look at my mother for once without eyes that see that she is already gone, a mouth for once that isn't a firm, flat line. For once I look at her and see a forever alive woman that is my mother, who will grow with me and shape me and change me, and has already done those things for thirteen years. I don't know how I'll live without her.

* * *

 _I'm down below where it's silent and it's safe, resounding with the question of "Where to, from here?"_

 _I know my direction, I know what it takes, but I'm weak and I'm weightless with everything to fear._

 _I write about what's real to me when all I feel is make believe, but I won't say there's nothing left._

 _There's everything, but just out of reach._

 _But I'm not helpless; I'm not hopeless._

 _It's time to see the floor sink around me, pushed down with my two bare hands and now I'm stronger for whatever comes._

 _Let the blood rush, as I rise to my feet._

* * *

 ** _Rufus Braunvieh, 17_**

 ** _Resident of District 10_**

 ** _Laborer and Student at Langston Gangrene Conservatory_**

 _You're so cute I wanna wear you like a suit._ _I think you'd look pretty good on me. You're so cute I wanna wear you like a suit. I think you'd look pretty good on me. Ok alright, Ok alright. Don't know how it started to start but now it's starting to stop!_

Kaylee and I walk side by side through the giant house, listening to the warbling, bombastic, high dive treble voice of the local belter, BettyAnn Putnam. Her warm, honey syrup voice flows thick and sticky through all halls and rooms of the house. even up into the cold, musty attic. The pretty singer with blonde hair crystalized in hairspray and blue eyes so big it seems like she's always in shock has a big price tag hanging from the tuning pegs of her old, red and orange Fender acoustic guitar. That price tag is zip in my grandparents' eyes, however. When you own more ranches than you can count with your fingers and your toes and the fingers and toes of your spouse, children, and grandchildren all put together, you can afford little old BettyAnn Putnam.

Kaylee and I both look well put together, and we are. Her dark blonde hair, more natural than BettyAnn's, falls in a waterfall of curls down her back, and her flowy teal chiffon dress plays well with her green eyes. My teal bow tie with my black slacks and tuxedo correlates with her dress, and many people think we're a couple. No, she's just my friend in all honesty. We have similar backgrounds; the Brandford's own two baker's dozen ranches adjacent to our several dozen, and while they're no where as near as affluent as my family, they're still rich compared to most people in Ten. Most people in this part of the District work on the ranches people like us own for meager salaries, living poor, pitiful lives in tiny houses with empty stomachs.

Is it wrong that I would rather be like them?

That's what links Kaylee and I. She fidgets with the silver necklace, too heavy and expensive, looped around her neck, eyeing the ruby pendant at the end warily, knowing it could feed a family of five for the next week. My hands itch to loosen my bow tie, to roll down my dress socks, to roll up my slacks and tuxedo sleeves, to drink a cup of water instead of sour wine and chatter mindlessly with Kaylee and our other friend, Cody, while we wander the countryside that is interspersed with huge ranches and massive slaughterhouses, like the one I choose to work in. If I had my choice, I'd live in the villages with one set of overalls, maybe two flannel shirts. I'd work in the slaughterhouses or on a ranch, and I'd find myself a good guy or gal to marry, and we'd have kids of our own or adopt, or both, and we'd struggle and we'd fight and we'd fracture and we'd wish for a better life, but we'd be real and gritty and honest people, not the people my family are.

My Grandparents own the large system of Braunvieh farms. My father manages three of them, and his brothers and sisters manage several of their own each as well. My mother stays at home on our home ranch, about a ten minute's run from here, my grandparents' central ranch, which they call the _La Chacra Grande de Braunvieh_. Like many people, we have bits of Spanish heritage sprinkled about our lives. But anyway, they're filthy rich and stuck up snobs, and they know it, and they don't care. My fathers' too preoccupied worrying about us, his family, and his ranches to be snooty, but all of my aunts and uncles that also own ranches are just like my grandparents. My mother's from a little tiny ranching village, a pretty girl who only married my father to get herself and her family out of destitute poverty. My siblings and cousins are a melting pot of different personalities and views, but a good majority are or are destined to be like the Braunvieh elders. Some of my siblings and cousins are understanding of my views, but all of them plan to stay in the family's good graces and work on the ranches or supervise them. I'm the only one out of the twenty four grandchildren of Marjorie Walsh Braunvieh and Edward Braunvieh that wants to leave the ranching system.

Kaylee and I chat politely with other ranch owners and their children intermittenly, but most of the time we stand by windows or in shadowed corners, conversing quietly about our plans for the midnight outing. We always go out after these tedious parties filled with the richest people in the heart of Ten, the _Tierras de Ranchos_ as they're called. They talk politely about how their livestock is better and their land claims bigger and their feed pricier and their housing larger and how they are just going to _sweep_ everyone else off of their feet with their new equipment and cheaper prices. It's all passive aggressive, polite talk of how they'll beat each other out at the market, and that's all they ever talk about. No "How's your love life?" or "How are the kids?", not even a cursory "The weather's alright, ain't it?" All they care about is more money sliding between their beefy fingertips and outdoing one another. That isn't living.

Finally, the party ends after hours and hours. The house is still hot when everyone is gone but not as hot. Grandma walks around the house, instructing her servants to crack the windows and clean up the mess as she and Grandpa head upstairs to prepare for bed in their massive master bedroom. Most of the family is already gone, and I tell my parents and my two siblings who still live at home, Wade and Kinsey, that I'll meet them later. My other, older siblings, Brice, Huckleberry, Sawyer, and Weston, all live or work on other ranches and have already left.

Kaylee and I wait outside on the back steps for Cody. He works on one of the ranches a couple of miles away, the one my brother Sawyer manages. We met when my brother started managing that ranch several years ago, and we dated for a bit before we decided to just be friends. It's worked out so far, I guess. He and Kaylee are my only real friends, and I love hanging out with them. Cody's the type of person I want to be, down to earth and hard working, and Kaylee has the same viewpoints as me, wanting to be someone besides a Brandford. We all mesh well.

Cody arrives, walking fast down one of the dirt roads that connects the ranches, the moonlight highlighting his dark brown hair, sort of the same color as my own. He grins when he reaches us, and we stand there by the back steps for a little bit until a thought comes into my head. I run inside, and grab the keys to the big white and gray garage that sits separate from the house. I unlock it, grinning, and pull out three dirt bikes.

"Let's ride," I mumble with a goofy smile, and I can't help but appreciate that this wealth at least lets me ride through the District on a dirt bike.

We hop onto the bikes, turning them on. Everyone in the _Tierras de Ranchos_ knows how to ride a dirt bike; it's just a sort of thing that everyone does. Bike riding of every sort is probably our District's biggest sports besides soccer and rugby. We roll them out a good distance away from the house so we don't wake up my grandparents or startle any of the servants. Then we rev up the engines, and we ride.

The moonlight glistens on the shiny metal spokes of the wheels, the silvery handlebars, the headlights which we keep on a low setting so the lights don't totally blind anyone we might come across. We glide down the dirt roads like ghouls, the stars twinkling overhead like miniature spectators, cheering us on. Our hair streams behind us and our cheeks are rosy in the sickly sweet heat of the summer nights, intoxicating and immersive. We ride for what feels like forever, and in what feels like a millisecond since the beginning of our journey, we stop at the edge of the woods somewhere in the back wilds of the expansive Braunvieh property. I pop open the saddlebag of my dirt bike and find a flashlight, a survival manual, and a tiny first aid kit. I flick on the flashlight, and we stumble into the forest, soon finding a ravine. We sit on the tall, muddy cliff over looking the winding band of dirty water below, and we sit in silence and marvel at the beauty of the forest at night around us. Insects chirp and buzz, and a bullfrog croaks, his bass voice warbling through the air. I tilt my head towards the sky, and wish every night was like right now.

* * *

 **A/N: Today we had Miriam and Rufus, thanks to HogwartsDreamer113 and Alecxias respectively. This pair is just stunning, and I enjoyed crafting their POVs to the best of my abilities to showcase their uniqueness.**

 **Decent length for both this time. No overboards. :)**

 **Reapings are due to be finished by Sunday? That's a tentative goal. It's a _hopeful_ goal.**

 **Many of you have been commenting on how much you love my worldbuilding, and I'm so happy you guys appreciate it! I have a really set in stone, in depth head canon for each District if you can't tell, and I love showcasing them. Next time, I'm going to have to write like a manual on tracelynn's Districts of Panem so people don't give me a boy of minority ancestry with bunches of muscles, is rich, and is supremely healthy and happy that lives in a big city. Tracee bot says _does not compute! It simply doesn't!_**

 **And, okay, I've been nice, ignoring some bitter reviews or PMs I've gotten about this story, but I have a comment for you, Guest: Am I not allowed to have liberal opinions? And would you want to read a chapter containing abuse if, say, you were abused as a child or don't have the stomach for that sort of stuff? I think not. That's why I have the sometimes over the top Trigger Warnings. Better safe than sorry :)**

 **Thanks, y'all, for being the best reviewers a writer could ask for. I'll admit last chapter was not my best work, and thanks for discreetly letting me know that xD**

 **Who did you like better, Miriam or Rufus? Overall thoughts on this pair? Predicted placements? Thoughts on the writing?**

 **P.S. Happy Thanksgiving! Hope you had a fun Turkey Day that was politics free, thankfully just like mine! :D (Probably belated by the time you read this, I did get this out at 11:20 P.M. on Thanksgiving night xD)**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	17. District Eleven: Apples and Rows

**A/N: Today, the second of hopefully three Thanksgiving break chapters, we have District Eleven! This pair was a nice pair to write and I'm excited for you guys to read them. Enjoy! :D**

 **Trigger Warnings: Very little profanity**

* * *

 _There was a time_

 _I used to look into my father's eyes._

 _In a happy home_

 _I was a king, I had a golden throne._

 _Those days are gone,_

 _Now the memory's on the wall._

 _I hear the songs_

 _From the places where I was born._

 _My father said,_

 _"Don't you worry, don't you worry, child._

 _See heaven's got a plan for you._

 _Don't you worry, don't you worry now."_

 _Yeah!_

* * *

 ** _Soya Chaffer, 17_**

 ** _Resident of District 11_**

 ** _Laborer and Homeschooled Student_**

The sunlight slants through the reaching arms of the apple trees, splattering across the muddy green grass of the ground. The sunlight makes the glossy apples shine a bit, and the heat feels nice and exuberant, wrapping me in its toasty arms and tanning my paler, freckled skin. I adjust my overalls before scaling the apple tree in front of me. I yank on a branch and pull of several apples in several quick motions; _crack pop pop snap crack._ I drop them into the large wooden barrel waiting at the base of the tree, and they land with solid _plunks_ on top of the other apples piled within the barrel. I move like lightning to the next branch, and repeat the process, climbing ever higher into the tree and working faster than everyone else.

My younger sister Kaya walks by, rolling a full barrel of apples, along with one of the three workers who board in our home for the fee of working the fields, Albert. Albert keeps his head down, which is shielded by a wide straw sun hat. Kaya, however, tries to taunt me.

"How's our little Spider Monkey?! Having fun working too hard?" she giggles playfully before tossing a clot of dirt at me. My hands shoots out and swats it out of the air. I may be a normal girl on the ground, but in the trees I'm another entity. I love working in my family's orchard.

Kaya and Albert waddle away soon enough, rolling the barrel full of ripe apples between them. I softly toss apple after apple after apple into the barrel until it's so full that a few of the glossy red and green apples overflow and fall with soft _thunks_ onto the ground. By that time, Albert and Kaya are back from dropping off their barrel by the front doors of the ranch house, where the trucks will come in the morning to pick it up. The other two boarders, Alessandra and Roote, are planting new Granny Smith and Fuji saplings at the end of the orchard, and I can see them working when I climb to the top of the tree to grab the last of the apples. Kaya and Albert are working together to roll away the barrel I just filled up. Using my shirt as a makeshift basket, I carry the last dozen or so apples down from the upper branches of the tree. I hop to the ground and walk over to an empty barrel sitting by a tree several hundred yards away. I plop them in, and then I drag the barrel over to the next tree over, and I re start the process. _Crack pop pop snap crack. Plunk plunk plunk plunk. Thunk thunk thunk._

Even when a soft breeze starts to blow through the orchard, ruffling the leaves and my dark brown hair, and the sun starts to set in a fuzzy blaze of orange, pink, and maroon, I keep working, plucking apples and lofting them into barrels. Alessandra, Roote, and Dad are just done planting, and Kaya and Albert have been done for two hours. Six overfilled barrels, needing to be rolled away, sit in my wake as I work.

I love the feel of the rough bark underneath my fingers as I hook my arms around the branches, pulling myself up higher. Apples fly through my fingertips, arcing gracefully down into the barrel like a constant stream of glossy red pockmarked by green. My eyes only see the boughs and the leaves and the apples and my own calloused hands, and my fingertips scrabble across rough bark, rough stems, and slippery smooth apples. The slight night chill pervades around me, and goosebumps spring to life on my arms, but I ignore them. Finally, I hear my mother's soft voice behind me.

"Soya, come on. We let you stay out late, but let's go inside. Kaya's waiting, it's time for arithmetic. I let you skip yesterday."

I sigh, and let the last apple I've picked fall from my hands into the barrel. Albert and Roote are rolling the other barrels up to the front of the house. I take my mother's soft, warm hand and let her lead me to the back entrance. We walk through the kitchen, where Alessandra is preparing dinner. Kaya is waiting at the worn dining room table when we walk into the room, her arithmetic book cracked open. She looks bored as she gnaws on the eraser on the end of her pencil. She's working on Pre-Algebra this year, being 13; I'm learning how to do Calculus right now. It's hard and I don't totally get it, but thankfully Mom has all the time in the world to slowly explain each step of new concepts.

Our little orchard farm is similar to many thousands of institutions around Eleven. While we have one biggish capital city, Lima, with around twenty thousand people, and a dozen or so smaller cities of several thousand people that work in the packaging and canning factories, the other half million of us live on ranches and farms and orchards scattered like seeds in the wind across the District. Tiny villages of one to ten families work on a plot of land like our orchard. We aren't rich by any means; Albert, Alessandra, and Roote are not servants, they just live with us. Having only one family on a farm is hard, especially when it's one over worked single mother and two younger daughters. You need help, and while our three boarders search for families and properties of their own they stay here. Property is cheap as dirt, plants and equipment a little more expensive, but still, with just a handful of cash you can have an orchard just like my family's. Anyone that doesn't live in 11 would think we're rich; living in a nice, bigger wooden ranch painted a nice cream color, with five bedrooms, two bathrooms, a dining room, a kitchen, a living room, and a garage, along with a shed out back. We also own several dozen acres of land. But our house has been lived in by other families since before the inception of Panem; it's drafty and rotting and infested with insects and mice. Our land is rough, some of it infertile. Rich people have giant farmhouses with three dozen bedrooms, many children, and dozens of boarders who fight to stay at their giant, richly decorated homes and to work in their expansive, well plotted fields and orchards.

"We're doing logarithmic differentiation today," my mother says, slamming her own Calculus book down onto the table. Kaya's working on y-intercept graphing equations and I can't help but feel jealous of the easier math she has to do. Then again, when I was learning Pre-Algebra, I found it extremely difficult. At least Kaya seems to find arithmetic easier to understand than I do.

My pencil scratches across the paper Mom gives me to write on, and the night trickles by slowly as I slog through a lesson on logarithmic differentiation from Mom. She tries to make it interesting but it's like trying to pick up a whole barrel of apples after you've spilled them down the hillside; it's just not going to happen. After an hour of struggling through the lesson Mom finally relents, and lets me put away my arithmetic book. The tantalizing scent of beef stew drifts from the kitchen, where Alessandra has been working diligently to make dinner. Albert and Roote come in as we're cleaning up our math supplies, their hands muddy from the barrels. They wash them in the giant stainless steel kitchen sink, one of the few things my parents added to the house when they moved her, poor newlyweds, only 17 the both of them. The thought of my father makes me inhale slowly. He died a while ago, when I was 10, from tuberculosis. There's cures for it I'm sure, but farms are far apart, and the only real doctors are in Lima and the other bigger cities. We're hundreds of miles from a big city out here. The county doctor came, but the only thing he's good for is treating colds, the flu, strep throat, and taking care of open wounds. His skill set doesn't cover tuberculosis; after all, he's not a Capitol certified doctor, just a country man who learned from his father the arbitrary country ways to care for the sick.

It's alright that my father died. If he hadn't, I know something worse would've happened. A tree would've crushed Kaya and Mom, or Albert and Roote would be murdered, or maybe we'd lose the entire farm to the Capitol because we couldn't pay taxes. Something worse could always happen, but my father prevented anything else terrible from happening to us when he died. After that, that was the one terrible event that happens in everyone's lives. I miss him, but I'm thankful that that was the worst thing that will happen to me. I won't be struck by lightning, my husband won't die in a house fire, and I won't have a miscarriage. I'll never be arrested, robbed, raped, or assaulted. I'll never be Reaped, because Snow almighty knows that being Reaped is the worst fate there is in Panem, even worse than house foreclosure and assault and lightning and the loss of family to the cold claws of death. Nothing is as bad as the Hunger Games, but even they happen for a reason. Everything happens for a reason. At least the families that lose tributes never have to face darkness ever again.

Everyone sits down at the table, and Alessandra walks around and pours beef stew into the white porcelain bowls Mom has set out. I use my tarnished silver spoon to shovel the soup, gulp by gulp, into my mouth. I'm hungry and tired, and beef stew is always delicious, the beef a couple of days old from the slaughterhouses of Ten next door, the vegetables and broth right here from our farm. I smile at the people congregated at the table, and my eyes skip over to the empty chair at one head of the table, where my father used to sit. My mother sits at the other head of the table. His loss is still there, always there.

Everything happens for a reason. That's just the way it is.

* * *

 _I won't just survive_

 _Oh, you will see me thrive_

 _Can't write my story_

 _I'm beyond the archetype_

 _I won't just conform_

 _No matter how you shake my core_

 _'Cause my roots, they run deep, oh_

 _Oh, ye of so little faith_

 _Don't doubt it, don't doubt it_

 _Victory is in my veins_

 _I know it, I know it_

 _And I will not negotiate_

 _I'll fight it, I'll fight it_

 _I will transform_

* * *

 ** _Omri Plower, 18_**

 ** _District 11 Resident_**

 ** _Laborer and Student at Alahee Village School_**

I keep my head low as my eyes flash to the paper laying on the desk in front of me. I pick up my pencil and then begin scanning the instructions carefully before jotting down the answer to the first question:

 _When were the Hunger Games instituted?_

It's the Preliminary Reapings today in Alahee, our small little farming village in the middle of nowhere in Eleven, at six tonight, so of course the teachers are flooding us with trivia and facts all about the Hunger Games. The Prelim Reapings are sort of a holiday in Eleven; there's zero chance either of our prospective tributes will be selected in the full Reaping after they get sent to Lima, where thousands of kids from across the District end up. People party and eat, and our female and male tributes are the king and queen of the school dance, which is held tonight. I don't have a date, unlike the kids in the front row.

I turn my attention back to the post test. Mr. Schapelle, the teacher for all of us Seniors, has been lecturing about the Hunger Games all day. I listened sometimes and didn't listen other times, but I already know everything he talked about today. You don't really learn much in Alahee after ninth or tenth grade. There's no point in teaching most of us Calculus or Pre Dark Days Capitolian Literature. A gaggle of young farmers aren't going to have any use for that stuff in their heads. The really smart ones that want to learn everything get taught by the pretty Ms. Luetis. She's a good woman.

As I work, my gaze keeps flicking up to the front row. Mr. Schapelle lets us select our seats in the Senior year, saying we're mature enough to choose our own seats. And, anyway, it's easy enough to quiet down sixteen Seniors in one room when you have the loud, booming voice of Mr. Schapelle.

We've naturally organized ourselves into groups. In the front row are the popular kids. Killian Sprouse, the grandson of Alahee's Mayor. The Carlyle twins, Widdon and Gwenyth, whose parents have a huge inheritance from Pre-Dark Days. And then there's also Sloane Gallus, the local bad girl and daughter of one of Alahee's four Peacekeepers, who are all laid back drunkards who don't care what we do.

The second row are their close followers. Miri, Tanya, Houston, Gabe. Miri's mother is the 4th grade teacher, Tanya and Houston's parents are field supervisors, and Gabe is a normal kid with normal parents who happens to be a good kissup and a good looker. I sit in the third row along with another follower, Giana Hallen, who sits on my left. On my right is another nice pushover type of kid, a girl named Lidia Wynthrop. She's pretty but quiet, and lets everyone walk all over her, sort of like how people do with me. Next to Lidia is a super smart kid a year younger than us named Samgee Unius. He's super smart and pretty nice and would be front row material in the Junior year, but he was too late entering our class, in our Sophomore year, to reach the front row. In the back row are Sarah, Wheaton, Clarynce, and Imelia, the deadbeats. Sarah's mother is the town whore, Wheaton is an ugly orphan who likes to steal, Clarynce's family is so poor that he looks like he's already dead from starvation, and Imelia is quiet and spunky, always drawing in one of her notebooks and singing strange songs in a high voice. The fourth row is the row for social dropouts. If I was ever in the fourth row, I would really hate myself. I feel pity for those behind me in that row, although none of them seem to mind being back there. Sarah is always fixing her overdone makeup, Wheaton is always playing with some trinket, Clarynce stares off into space with a small smile, and Imelia draws and hums her songs and glares at the front row. I wish I was like Imelia, able to hate the front row and not feel reverence towards them. I wish I was like Killian, strong and handsome and rich and well known and popular, the ruler of the 22nd Senior Class of Alahee Village School, Home of the Huskies. We don't have any sports or any extracurriculars; we only have twelve teachers, two janitors, and a principal that rules over all sixteen schools in Tuskgee County, one of Eleven's seventy six counties and is never here. Our school is a speck on the space time continuum, Alahee just a smidge larger, but this school, this little village, is my entire world, and I want to be well known here. I don't want to be another pushover sitting in the third row, the millionth pushover to sit at this desk through generations of people entering this room and sitting down. There are front rowers, second rowers, third rowers, fourth rowers. Everyone else yearns to sit in the front; I wonder what the front rowers want. Do they crave to sit in my seat, looking at the back of the heads of the front rowers longingly? Why would they ever yearn for that, though? Who wouldn't want to be special and popular? I want to be like that.

The end of the day comes soon enough, and we turn in our post tests. It's almost the end of the year; school quits in awkward spots for the planting and the harvest and such, so we run school through June. It's the last week of June, at the end of this week school will be over, and I will be free of the classroom and its rows, and I will never have to talk to anyone from school ever again. But I need to make a statement to them. I need them to remember me as more than Omri Plower, the third row boy pushover who sat quietly for twelve years in the too hot school with a too polite smile, giving them answers to homework and helping them carry things. I need them to remember me for the person I want to be. It's not who I am deep down inside, it's who I want to be, who I yearn to be. I need them to see the person I crave to be. I need them to see what shall be the purest form of Omri Plower.

I walk home alone, my beat up baby blue book bag barely held together, one of the straps frayed and about to snap. Good thing I won't need it soon. When I get home, I set down my bag gingerly next to the entrance. My mother and I's small house has one room; we separate our beds and the toilet and shower from the kitchen/living room with thick canvas curtains my mother found a long time ago, before I was born.

It's just my mother and I. She's already working at the rusty stove, boiling a pot of water she must have already fetched from the well at the center of town. I grab the box of noodles and the marinara sauce we bought at the singular grocery store in Alahee three days ago just for this special night. I pour the dry, rubbery pasta, made in Nine, into the pot. My mother watches the pasta boil and soften as I part the curtains around my bed. I open my dresser, and pull out my dress clothes, a new pair of khakis after my old ones got dirty from the last Prelim Reaping, and a cornflower blue dress shirt that was my father's before he passed.

I head out, all dressed up, to see my mother pouring the pasta into two earthenware bowls. She pours the sauce over them, and then sprinkles some cheese she bought from Mrs. Flores, our nearest neighbor, who makes cheese, over the sauced pasta. She hands me my bowl and a fork, and I dig in once she sits down next to me with her own set of cutlery. Soon our delicious, special dinner is all gone, and it's nearing six. We walk hand in hand to the town square. My mother's willowy and gaunt even though we have enough to eat usually; we both work, she just got today off and I got my after school shift off as well due to the holiday of sorts. She's been broken and quiet, wistful, ever since my father died when I was 3, so this is how my mother has always been to me. I squeeze her hand as we reach the square, and she kisses me on the top of my head before I go off to the pens.

My finger is pricked, and then rubbed on a piece of paper next to my name by the Mayor's elderly wife, Mrs. Henrietta Sprouse. I walk over to the eighteen year old boys pen to find the boys from school's Senior class minus Samgee, who stands in the 17 year old pen behind us. Widdon and Killian joke loudly, Houston and Gabe try to insert themselves into their conversation, and Clarynce and Wheaton stand at the back of the too spacious pen, Wheaton fiddling with an ornament of some sort, Clarynce staring blankly at the stage as Mayor Harold Sprouse takes the stage along with our town's "Escort", the prettiest woman in town and the Mayor's daughter, Killian's mother, Mrs. Lorena Sprouse. She makes a short speech about how much she loves Alahee and our village's bravery before going over the the bowls. 102 slips in the boy bowl, 106 in the girl bowl. She starts with girls.

"Lidia Wynthrop!" Lidia wobbles out of the pen, and takes the stage. It's customary to let the tribute selected be the tribute, but I don't plan on that. I need to show them all that I'm more than the little boy cowering in the third row. I need to show them who I am. I won't have much chance of being selected at the actual Reaping, after all, with thousands of kids to pick from. And I'm as strong as an ox from my work in the fields, and ever since I concocted this plan at fifteen years of age, I've been practicing throwing knives that I bought off a traveling merchant. If I do get picked, I'll actually have a legitimate chance. I'm about the equivalent of a District Eleven Career, if you're looking at it like that. If it was the real Reaping, everyone would be waiting with bated breath, but everyone chatters quietly about the party afterwards as Mrs. Lorena Sprouse selects the male.

"Clarynce Hogan!" Clarynce is startled out of his trance, but I spring forward.

"I, Omri Plower, volunteer!" I shout confidently, strutting onto the stage, and I see the shocked faces of everyone. Even if it's only for a second, they see me, they _really_ see me. Even if it's only for a second, they know who I am.

For a second, I sit in the front row with Lidia, and it feels so damn good.

* * *

 **A/N: Today we had Soya and Omri, courtesy of IlluminatingSpirit and DaughterOfTigris! Thanks for this fun pair!**

 **May have gone a little overboard on Omri? I dunno.**

 **Okay, just one thing I want to say. I keep mentioning lengths just because I don't want you guys to think that someone with a longer POV is one I like better. That isn't necessarily true, and those with the longest POVs don't have a better chance of Victory. I'll be honest, I've selected some Bloodbath tributes since I got _zip_ Bloodbath tributes xD I also have my Top 6, and any of them can turn out the Victor although I think I have one selected to be my Victor. But, then again, let's look at Oceanside. While Serephina was my Victor for a long time, Chen, Caitlin, and Catherine for god's sakes were also my Victor for a good chunk of time, and Hailea, Steale, and Holly all died in the first 3 days in the first draft of the Games but ended up making it to Top 8. So yeah. Don't worry. Things change with me I'm so damn indecisive and I get soooo attached to tributes I will probably cry more than you when they die xD **

**Thanks for supporting me against haters y'all! You are the best!**

 **I'm also about to break down because we're at 199 reviews. With this chapter, we'll surpass 203 reviews for sure, the number of reviews _we had on the entirety, the WHOLE GODDAMN ENTIRETY, of Oceanside! _That is just insane, and I love you all so much. (Almost as much as I love worldbuiling ;)**

 **Who did you like better, Soya or Omri? Overall thoughts on this pair? Predicted placements? Thoughts on the writing?**

 **P.S. Platrium, I cannot wait to see your favorites and not favorites! xD**

 **P.P.S. Who will claim the lucky 200th review?**

 **P.P.P.S. Should I start doing trivia questions about this Games and Oceanside just for fun?**

 **P.P.P.P.S. I need help! Should I do a sponsor system!?**

 **P.P.P.P.P.S I have too many postscripts xD**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	18. District Twelve: Children and Bottles

**0A/N: Finally, District Twelve, the last introductions! :D Platrium finally gets to see their tributes! :D Enjoy, and hopefully this is out on Sunday? xD**

 **Trigger Warnings: Mentions of sex, drug abuse, sexual scenes and profanity**

 **(The sexual scenes aren't descriptive at all, or I hope so at least, so don't worry xD)**

* * *

 _I'll tell the world, I'll sing a song_

 _It's a better place since you came along_

 _Since you came along_

 _Your touch is sunlight through the trees_

 _Your kisses are the ocean breeze_

 _Everything's alright when you're with me_

 _And ah ah ah ah ah, you're my favorite thing_

 _Ah ah ah ah ah, all the love that you bring_

 _But it feels like I've opened my eyes again_

 _And the colors are golden and bright again_

 _There's a song in my heart, I feel like I belong_

 _It's a better place since you came along_

 _It's a better place since you came along_

* * *

 ** _Carmen Ionique-Astron, 17_**

 ** _Resident of District 12_**

 ** _Stay At Home Mother_**

"Mommy, I'm hungry!" Cobalt mumbles, rubbing his stomach.

"I'm making breakfast, don't you worry honey," I say with a small smile. I turn back to the rusty black stove, watching as the blue-orange gas flames erupt from the burner, the tips of the tongues of flame curling around the curved black iron sides of the pan. I use a greasy plastic spatula to flip the eggs inside; sunny side up, just like Cobalt likes them best. I let them cook for a moment longer, and then I flip the two fully cooked eggs expertly onto the spatula before depositing them on a chipped white ceramic plate. I walk over to our scarred dining room table, which sits in one corner of our small shack.

Cobalt sits all by himself, the big, puffy green sitting chair dwarfing his small four year old frame. He grins happily when I set down the eggs in front of him, and flips them over, inspecting them curiously, prodding the eggs and shredding them open to see how the yolk spills out. His sister, Aramis, a year younger than him at three, sits in an old oak rocking chair on a pile of pillows in her cute yellow dress. She waits patiently for her eggs, staring at the third of five chairs at the table. One year old Bonnie beats her tiny fists against the plastic tray of the old, faded baby pink high chair. We had to cut off parts of the legs so the high chair didn't stand two feet higher than the table. I quickly grab a small can of peaches out of the pantry, and mash them some before scooping them into a plastic bowl. I look around for the little green spoon we use to feed Bonnie. It has a squishy handle and she only eats with that spoon. I open drawers and look around for it, biting my lip. She's not going to eat, my baby needs to eat. My children all need to grow up nice and strong, and if Bonnie stops eating-

I feel a warm hand on my shoulder, and turn around to see my husband, Aristotle, smiling softly, holding the little green spoon in his other hand. He chuckles and I sigh, pouting, and he just laughs a little bit more before kissing my forehead.

"Go feed little Bonnie. I'll make Aramis her eggs." He kisses me again, and I squeeze his hand as I walk over to the dining room table, spoon in hand. Aris is the love of my life, and I'll never let go of him. It all started in an alley when I was eight years old. I was singing, trying to get enough money to buy myself something to eat so I wouldn't starve to death. He heard my voice, and thought it was pretty, that _I_ was pretty. He started following me around, and orphan himself, and before I knew it we had this little shack, I kissed him, he kissed me, we became one underneath the covers, I gave birth to Cobalt, and I was signing a marriage contract at the Justice Building before toasting a loaf of bread with him in our shack's fireplace, Cobalt, just a babe then, watching with a giggly smile. My smile doesn't fade as I think about Aramis being born, about Bonnie being born, and now our fourth bundle of joy, due any day now. It's been almost nine months since my pregnancy started, after Aris and I had some fun like we do almost every night. I chuckle to myself as I crouch down beside Bonnie's high chair. I dip the spoon into the bowl of mashed up peaches, and spoon the soft, sugary fruit into her mouth. A bit dribbles down her chin, and I use the tablecloth to dab the juice off of her soft, round, rosy baby cheeks. I smile at her, and she smiles at me, wrapping her chubby little fingers around my thumb.

Aris walks over to the table, a plate full of scrambled eggs in his hands. He sets it down in front of Aramis, and she tries to eat on her own. Her fingers fumble around with the fork, and Cobalt helps her eat, trying to tell her how to hold the fork with a mouth full of eggs before he finally swallows them all in a huff and folds her fingers around the fork, showing her how to hold it. I chuckle, and continue to feed Bonnie. Once I'm done, I carry the bowl over to the sink. It's strange not to head out to the well about a half mile away to wash our dishes; until soon after Bonnie was born, we couldn't afford water to come to our house. We got electricity while I was pregnant with Aramis. We used to have to walk a half mile there and back to get water, and we only had a fire for light until Aramis came around. We still don't really have heat or air conditioning, although the fireplace acts as a good heater. As I wash out the dregs of syrupy peach juice from the bowl, Aris spoons scrambled eggs onto two plates, one for each of us. I towel dry the plastic bowl and put it on its shelf before grabbing my plate off of the counter. Aris kisses me again, and we sit down at the table. Bonnie plays with a rattle, consumed in her activity, Aramis fumbles with her fork, trying to eat on her own a sort of succeeding, and Cobalt munches down the last of his breakfast. He then scoots out of his chair, running his hand across the wooden backs of the skeleton-like wood chairs we sit in. Aris ruffles his hair as he opens one of the two doors that lead off of the main living area. One door leads to our bedroom, the other to the kids' bedroom. Cobalt waddles out a moment later with a small book, and he starts trying to read it on his own allowed after he sits back down at the table.

"The...cat...ahty...ayty...ate! The cat...ate...her...fohd...food...happ...happil...happily!"

"Good job, Cobie!" Aris and I say in near unison, and I laugh as he rolls his eyes. I look into those eyes, round brown orbs dappled with specks of gold. They captivate me. They've captivated me ever since I met him in the street as I sang, as he walked. I remember the song I was singing that day, and our hands fit together naturally as I begin to sing the song. My kids fall quiet; they love when I sing.

 _Deep in the meadow, under the willow._ _A bed of grass, a soft green pillow._ _Lay down your head, and close your eyes._ _And when they open, the sun will rise._ _Here it's safe, and here it's warm._ _Here the daisies guard you from every harm._ _Here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true._ _Here is the place where I love you._

The last note fades from the air, and Aris grabs me close, pulling me onto his lap so that my legs straddle his waist. He kisses me, and I can see the lust in his eyes. His lips taste like eggs and coffee, and his hair smells distinctively of _Aris._

"It's only morning, Aris, and we have to watch over our children we have now before we can make more!" I giggle as he presses his lips to my neck, his hands gripping my hips tight. He sighs, and kisses my cheek before returning me to my seat.

"Killjoy," he jokes, prodding me. Our children watch with slight smiles. They like when we show affection for each other, and Cobie likes it especially because he's figured out when we're in affectionate moods towards the other spouse, we are usually nicer and more willing to get him what he wants. He stands up, and drops of his book back in the kid bedroom. He returns with another, and Aris and I finish our meals before we take all the plates and cutlery and carry them to the sink. I start washing them as Aris walks into our bedroom and dresses up in his work clothes. He got lucky; he has a job as a clerk at a grocery store in the Seam, and it's a decently paying job, enough for this modest house on the fringe of the Seam. Once he's all dressed up, we share a long, passionate kiss. He also kisses the kids, and then he laces up his boots before walking out the door to head to work. I watch him walk down the dirt road before I turn back inside.

"Bath time!" I bellow, and the kids squeal, hopping to their feet. Bonnie babbles and I grab her, holding her to my chest as I chase slowly after Aramis and Cobie. They giggle and run into their room, collapsing on their cots, burying themselves under the covers. I smile as I sit down on the foot of Aramis' cot. I finally coax them out from under the covers, and I get them to wait in here. I'm going to give Bonnie a bath first.

I pull the big silvery tub out of the pantry, where it lives when it is not in use. It's more of a huge, glorified pail than anything that we wash ourselves in. I fill it up halfway with tepid water from the sink, the warmest it gets out here, before filling it with suds. I grab a soft washcloth and dip it in the water, and start washing Bonnie after I've stripped off her cute little green t-shirt and her little baby leggings, along with her diaper. She squeals and whimpers a little bit, but I'm gentle, careful, making sure that I don't hurt a hair on my little girl's head. When she's done, I dry her off and put on a new diaper and a set of clothes. Each kid only has two pairs of clothes since that's all we can afford. They take a bath every week, and we rotate clothes every week. It's a little uncleanly to most, but our life isn't "traditional" or " _right_ " to most people. I had Cobie when I was thirteen. I lost my virginity when I was a preteen pretty much. The weird thing is that I feel like I'm already an old grandmother. I feel so much older than seventeen. I'm so much more mature than the other seventeen year old girls I see, happy and unburdened by life's worries, just focused on getting a date, maybe feeding their families if they're really poor, but most girls are still shallow, naive. Childbirth and motherhood shreds the haze of naivety, and I was already crystal clear, seeing the real world, when I was eight, singing in the streets, meeting Aris. Life hasn't dealt me a kind hand, but I've turned it around. I have a handsome, faithful husband, three beautiful children, and a fourth on the way, and we're all well fed and healthy and have a humble little home. We're an imperfect family, but we're a family, and that's all I need.

* * *

 _I can't stop drinking about you_

 _I gotta numb the pain_

 _I can't stop drinking about you_

 _Without you I ain't the same_

 _So pour a shot in my glass and I'll forget forever! (Wow oh)_

 _So pour a shot in my glass 'cause it makes everything better! (Wow oh)_

 _Darlin' tell me what more can I do?_

 _Don't you know that I was meant for you?_

 _You say I feel like heaven on earth,_

 _But you'd never know what heaven was if it wasn't for her_

* * *

 ** _Gaylord Parthenia, 16_**

 ** _Resident of District 12_**

 ** _Bartender_**

"What type of drink would you like there, Miss?" I ask, quirking my brow sexily. The girl is around my age probably, I can't really tell that well in the relative darkness of the bar. The colorful, undulating dance floor lights shed some light over here, but not enough for me to see her that well, but I can tell she must be beautiful. She puts her chin in her hand and scans the light up board of all of our drinks that is on the back wall, just above all the liquor bottles.

"I don't really know what I should have, hon. What will two dollars buy?" she asks, slapping two bills onto the counter.

"Ooh, one dollar bills?" I say softly, teasing her, my eyes flashing up to hers to see how she reacts.

She chuckles. "I'm not a stripper by trade, but I'd be happy to show you some stuff any time you like," she says. It's her turn to quirk her brow sexily. An explosion of rainbow light from the dance floor highlights her, and I see her pretty auburn hair and pasty, freckled skin, rosy cheeks heated up from attraction and probably whatever she drank earlier. Her speech isn't slurred though, so maybe she finds me attractive and this isn't a drunken booty call. Hopefully it's not a joke. I just broke up with Mandy and I just need to get over that bitch. Sure, we were only dating for a little over a week, but she was toying with my heart. She said she loved me on the third day! How is a boy supposed to react to that?! And then she just flat out breaks up with me a week into a relationship because I won't say it back to her! I like moving fast in relationships, but that's just ludicrous. She was also sort of mad about the fact I got drunk, though, too. But what can I say? I work at a bar, and it's a waste to leave the half finished beers and shots to rot on the counter, only to be slurped up by the young little busboys. A boy has gotta feed his hobby. Mandy said I "had a problem with alcohol." She even used the fancy word people always say around me, "alcoholic." They say alcoholic gingerly, disgusted, like it's a bad thing to drown myself in a bottle. Girls break my heart all the time. Maybe if my love life wasn't absolute trash I would stop drinking so much. Than again, I get over girls quick. I'm a resilient fellow. Mandy just broke up with me before my shift started. I just need a couple of drinks and a little more time, and the slate will be wiped clean. I can speed up the process by scoring this pretty little redhead tonight.

"So, what drink you gettin' for me, bud?" the girl asks. I snap out of my reverie and look up to meet her eyes.

"Sorry, babe. Two dollars can buy you a Peony Martini. Give it a go, baby. It's a real knock your socks off drink."

"Yeah it is!" her co pilot says in a nasally voice. "I've been hear before, it's a real one and done, and I know that's what you're looking for tonight Peyton!" My friend and co-worker, Thor, also works behind the bar. He asks the nasally voiced friend if she wants anything, and Nasal Voice breaks away from this pretty redhead in front of me to go order. Peyton rolls her eyes as the girl leaves.

"I'm getting over a break up, and _of course_ Tina has to bring it up, the little bitch. Sorry," she mutters.

"Don't worry about it, I just went through a break up too, it was really tough," I mumble as I pour and mix together the Peony Martini. I love mixing together the alcohols and juices, pouring them and watching them provide a paradise in the middle of a hellish world to my customers. It's satisfying to watch them get drunk and leave behind the world's problems, the problems that pervade into their lives. I pour the brownish liquid of the Peony Martini into a martini glass with ice, and then I hand it to Peyton. It doesn't look very appetizing, but it's a good drink to get you drunk fast.

Peyton hands me the two dollars, and I put them in the register as she downs the whole drink in one gulp. In under a minute, as I'm pouring some vodka for her, she's already really tipsy. I put the vodka down in front of her, and she hands me three more dollars, saying that's all her money. She drinks the vodka quick, too, and then she just sits there, staring at me, her head cocked to the side.

"Damn, I am so drunk already!" she giggles. "You look _so hot..._ what should I call you, baby?"

"Lord," I reply smoothly. "And you're not bad yourself." She giggles drunkenly. We flirt back and forth for a couple of minutes until the look on Peyton's face hardens and I suspect she's somehow already sobering up. She clears her throat and interjects into the silence between us that's just appeared.

"So, look dude. You're smokin' hot but I'm just looking for a one night stand. I just broke up with Tommy and that asshole, we were engaged! And he was fucking my cousin Lily! Damn him! But I just need a quick fuck to take my mind off of him. Up for it, Lord?"

"My shift's over in ten minutes. Wait by the front entrance. I live in the apartment up top with my buddy Thor. His shift's already done, he's probably up there with our co-worker Cressilda, she's an...earner of one dollar bills. They won't mind if I give you a signature rough and tumble time."

"I'll be waiting for you, sweetie," she says, leaning over the counter and kissing me messily, her makeup smearing all over my face. She staggers over to the front entrance and sits down at a table by the door, staring at the flashing lights of the dance floor, mesmerized. I almost feel bad that it was so easy to snag her, but then again she's probably thinking the same thing. At least I didn't have to lie this time to get a hook up.

In ten minute my shift ends, and I grab one of the beers left on the bar, downing it all in one gulp. I throw the can into the trash and then I walk over to where Peyton sits by the front door. I take her hand and lead her to a door in the back corner of the bar, wreathed by shadows. It leads to a dingy stairwell. She can barely walk, and I have to literally carry her in my arms up the stairs. She doesn't complain, just mumbling about Tommy. I'll make her scream Tommy's name tonight, because when I fuck her I bet she's going to pretend it's her boyfriend. That's what girls like Peyton, fresh off a breakup and looking for a hookup, do. I've gone down on enough girls like her to know what to expect. She'll feel guilty when she's done, not even stay the night, and go weeping off to Tommy or whoever's house, weeping about how she wants to be back with him after she did something _so naughty._ It's just sex. It's human nature. There is a reason why it feels so good. It's because you're _supposed_ to do it. I don't get why people are bothered by sex. It's fun and universal and everyone wants it, and whenever I do it I'm always very careful and safe, making sure nothing bad will happen. What's not to like?

I set her down on my bed once we're in the apartment. Cressilda and Thor are doing shots in the kitchen and will probably get so drunk that they'll do something they'll regret afterwards, knowing them. I once dated Cressilda. One of the few relationships that actually ended okay. Peyton's already undressed by the time I close the door, and I'm stripping down, too. I'm on her then, and the night passes in a lovely blur as she spasms beneath me. When we're done, I kiss her forehead and lay down next to her, sighing happily. She drifts off to sleep, and I contemplate life's mysteries, my mind beautifully numb.

* * *

 **A/N: Today we had Carmen and Gaylord, both courtesy of the ever amazing Platrium! These two were definitely different, and I really did love writing them, they were a total blast to interpret and present Platrium.**

 **The intros are done! YAY! xD They were fun, but lets be honest, we're all ready to move on to the Pre-Games. Next chapter will be a recap of the Reapings, just a Capitol program that shows everyone's reactions and reveals who volunteered and who was Reaped and the like. After that, 12 goodbyes in a chapter. Then 12 trains in a chapter, and we're off into the Capitol, where I'll have a lot more chapters than last time that will be exploring the tributes before and after training, and also looking into our stylists and mentors. So yeah. I have a lot planned for Pre-Games.**

 **Ah, 222 reviews, how awesome you guys are! You're all just the best!**

 **I put up a new poll about your favorite tributes now that the Reapings are done. Go vote for your Top Six favorites!**

 **I'm still figuring out a sponsor system, but I will figure one out, do not worry y'all. It will involve trivia.**

 **Here is the trivia question. This is easy, so it's worth one point.**

 _ **Who was the Head Gamemaker for the Tenth Annual Hunger Games, Oceanside?**_

 **Who did you like better, Carmen or Gaylord? Overall thoughts on this pair? Predicted placements? Thoughts on the writing?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	19. Reaping Recap

**A/N: Here it is, the Reaping Recap. For the first time post the end of Oceanside, we get to see Miss Victor of Oceanside, Serephina Manchas! I hope you enjoy her personality; she's still the girl she was in that arena 12 years ago, just older and colder and less emotional and...merciful? I don't know how to explain how she's changed, just read it and you will see xD Have fun reading our favorite Career gal! :D**

 **P.S. For Reaping Reactions, I did not look at the forms. A lot of Reaping Reactions on the forms I felt were unrealistic for that character (lots of "Calmly walked onto the stage"'s), so I'm fitting the reactions to the characters as I've portrayed them. :)**

* * *

 _I won't let her in_

 _That would be callous and crass_

 _A chip on my chin_

 _You didn't want me back_

 _Stark in the dirt_

 _Can you tell that she's hurt?_

 _So sharp and alert_

 _She's such a clean breathe_

 _Starting to emerge_

 _I'm a ghost that I was_

 _A sister of her_

 _And I'm all the same creed_

 _I'll never give in_

 _How could I apprise you with all that she's sinned_

 _She feels like hell and I know 'cause I've been_

* * *

 ** _Serephina Manchas, 30_**

 ** _Resident of District 2_**

 ** _Victor of the Tenth Annual Hunger Games and Headmistress of the Grand Academy of District Two_**

The blazing sun, the beast of July, simmers overhead, baking the icy mountain caps of Two's mountains and nearly melting them, eliminating the cold winds and bitter snow that pervades the District in the soullessness of winter here. The stifling heat isn't unbearable, and everyone looks comfortable, chatting animatedly and laughing, laid back and relaxed. I even see two girls in the twelve year old pen playing paddy cake like they don't have a care in the entire world. Thanks to the Academy and our well trained volunteers, these children can play and giggle and smile, while in almost every other District in Panem the children are rigid, crying, filled with fright, mumbling things like _It won't be me, it will never be me._ Here kids can take as much tesserae as they need without consequences, while in the other Districts each tesserae taken is like stabbing yourself. I look at the peace I have helped found with violence, and proverbs spring into my head, but I quiet them as Cretta Lexanbridge and Mayor Braithwaite take the stage side by side.

I sit in a row of five chairs on the left hand side of the stage. I'm right in the middle. To my right are my elders, Clay Ross, my Mentor, and Brick Talladega, the legendary murdering machine. To my left are my underlings; Scylas Ondino, the strongest one of us here yet one of the most reserved as of late, and Lucia Theonis, fresh out of the arena, wide eyed and a bit nervous sitting next to four other legends. She's a legend now; every Victor in Two becomes a legend. She just hasn't realized yet how much her people adore her, how thankful they are for her sacrifice, for all of our sacrifices.

Mayor Braithwaite keeps it short and simple as always. He quickly states the bravery of our District and our volunteers, and how being loyal and hard working has paid off, making our District the richest in Panem and the favored lap dog of the Capitol. They do like our tributes, after all.

Mayor Braithwaite leaves the microphone, and Cretta takes the stage all by herself. She's a tough woman, unlike the ditzes that rule most of the other District stages. She's moderate in Capitol terms, wearing golden and forest green eye shadow and golden eyeliner and lipstick, her hair dyed forest green. She wears a dress with rich fabrics made of silver and gold, and in her dark green hair is a wreath of laurels. It's the same outfit she wears every year.

"Before we get started, let's commemorate the courageous Victors of Two! Clay Ross! Brick Talladega! Serephina Manchas! Syclas Ondino! Lucia Theonis!" Everyone in the square claps raucously, yelling their adoration and stamping their feet on the ground as is Two custom. We all stand and wave grandly at the crowd, grinning widely and genuinely. Even shy Lucia's smile is large and true, and she's still smiling when we sit down and Cretta flicks on the video. Everyone in the square watches it intently, obediently, honorably, politely, because that is the way of our people. We have nothing to fear in this square; watching the video without boredom or worry shows our true colors. The other Districts watch the video with discontent and worry, but we are different.

Once the video concludes, Cretta strides over to the female bowl. "First, our lovely ladies!" She dips her hand in the bowl and whisks a slip off of the top of the pile in the glass sphere. She reads the name allowed after opening the folded card. "Plautia Culoi!"

A promising Academy student, age fourteen, marches onto the stage, head held high, her smile blinding. I make a mental note to give her extra prestige points for her poise, grace, honor, and tranquility. Plautia stands ramrod straight beside Cretta as she shouts "Do we have any volunteers?"

"I volunteer!" a girl shouts from the eighteen year old section, and my smile widens as one of my prized students, Ardin Varnell, strides calmly onto the stage. This girl is a good bid for Victory, on par with Lucia in terms of skill, and she also has the tactical advantage on her side. I can easily see our row of chairs having a sixth member next year, but there has never been repeat District Victories. Of course, District Two would be the only District to safely make that happen, I am sure. I watch her stand proudly beside Cretta as Plautia returns to her pen, and I'm brought back to a time before the Academy, a time before my husband Roman and my four young children, Garry, Clarissa, Kate, and Gaius. I'm brought back to a time when an idealistic girl with too long blonde hair and a gracious stance and a wide, eager smile strode onto that stage to avenge her brother. I see the old me, and see many of the same things in the current me. I used to be so much more emotional, I used to be so much more young, so much more energetic. Now I am colder, but also older, more mature. I know the world now; I have a firm footing here. Honor is still at the top of my list, like it is in the minds of all of my Academy's cadets. I am the same girl who took the stage twelve years ago, yet I am so different as well.

Cretta traipses over to the male bowl. "And now for our gentlemen." This time, theatrically, Cretta mocks the other escorts dramatic rustles through the heaps of names, giving a pained expression to the crowd. They chuckle, and she reads the name of the chosen slip. "Kaedon Jute!"

A well dressed, handsome rich boy walks onto the stage from the seventeen year old pen. He's dashing and decently fit but I've never seen him at the Academy before. Most youth in Two are like him, rich and healthy but not cadets at the Academy. Most people think all we do in Two is train. This Kaedon probably trains at the Peacekeeper Institute of Two, which is less rigorous, and you are enrolled until age twenty five, and then you are spread throughout Panem to become Peacekeepers and spread and enforce the will and ideals of the Capitol in the Districts.

"Any volunteers for Kaedon here?" Cretta inquires lightly.

"I volunteer!" The rough around the edges male volunteer, Tyberios Palatium, crashes onto the stage. He was a debatable pick; none of the boys in this upcoming class were cream of the crop prospects like Ardin and her competitor for the slot, Venia. Despite his inexplicable chronic migraines, he was the toughest, most motivated, and most adept with heavy weapons in his class. While he isn't a master with tactics, light weight and distance weapons or speed and stealth, but we know the Games well enough to know that his brute force will carry him far. Tyberios is solemn and stoic next to slyly grinning Ardin.

"Congratulations, District Two, to your tributes in the Twenty Second Annual Hunger Games, Ardin Varnell and Tyberios Palatium!" Ardin waves graciously and Tyberios nods his head curtly to the cheering crowd after they shake hands. Then Cretta leads them back stage to bid farewell to their families, and the four of us older Victors stand in unison, Lucia standing a moment after, flustered, still grinning.

We march back stage. Clay departs after hugging Lucia and shaking the rest of our hands. He's the only one staying back this year. He'll hold down the home fort, watching over the Academy in my stead while I am gone. Scylas is our official Mentor, but I'm his unofficial co-Mentor. One, Four, Seven, and Eight also send an extra unofficial Mentor; it just works better to have only one tribute to watch over and nurture. Scylas is taking Tyberios, and I'm taking Ardin. Usually the better tribute goes with the official Mentor, but since Ardin is one of my proteges Scylas is letting me have her. He does favor Tyberios anyway and thinks he has what it takes to be Victor. Lucia and Brick are tagging along, too; the newest Victor is always present for interviews and the like in the Capitol for the first Games after their Victory, and Brick is just so damn patriotic that he likes to hang out around the Capitol and admire the cityscape, and maybe sometimes catch some quick drinks or walk into one of the more... _private_ clubs and taverns, the ones nestled snugly in the back alleys of the glittering Capitol.

Since Two literally curls halfway around the Capitol, and we're so close to them, we have an hour after goodbyes where we wait in the Justice Building until we board the train so we don't get there way earlier than the other Districts' trains. I wait for some time, and then I hear the cursory knock on the door. Scylas nudges it open, and gestures for me to follow him out into the hallway.

"The recaps are airing; we have about a half hour until the train gets here, Headmistress. Let's go check over the others, shall we?"

I chuckle to myself; Scylas still thinks he needs to call me Headmistress. Same with Lucia. They're hilarious specimens of loyalty and patriotism. I follow Scylas out into the hallway, and we enter a different room that has a huge television hanging on the wall. Scylas already has pens and notebooks out on the two rigid plastic chairs sitting in front of the television. We sit down, and I flip open the notebook. It's one I've used for several years, and I mull over my past inscriptions about past tributes, some of whom became Victors, as Scylas flicks on the television. I flip to a new page and scratch down _ONE_ at the top of the page.

The screen flares to life, and a golden seal of District One shimmers on the screen before showing an ornate mahogany stage and a speaking podium encrusted with small glittering jewels. Very One like. One of two female Mayors in the Districts, Mayor Milam, walks out, Escort Iono Sorrus, dressed in a flaring sun like outfit, his hair orange and fiery red, behind her. Esquiria, Kenyan, and Soren sit on the stage smiling slightly out at the crowd, all dressed to the nines. A quick snippet of the Mayor's speech, as well as the intro to the Dark Days video, plays on the screen before Iono selects the female tribute, his booming voice filling the square.

"Glint Macabre!" A lithe, cunning girl from the sixteen year old section, an obvious cadet or whatever they call Academy students in One, struts out of her pen and stands confidently next to Iono. "Do we have any volunteers for dazzling Ms. Macabre here?"

"I volunteer!" I watch as Ardin and Tyberios' first ally separates herself from the crowd of giggling blonde girls in the eighteen year old pen. While she looks like the lot of them, her back is straighter, her eyes clearer, her smile more vicious than most. She and Glint look like mirror images as they pass each other, Glint going back to her pen, the volunteer heading up to the stage, and I swear they must be siblings. But I know they aren't when the girl says that her name is Trinity Vegas.

Trinity stands proudly, garnering the admiration of her fellow One denizens gleefully, her chest swelling with emotion. Her killer smile, killer in more ways than one, remains constant, never wavering, as Iono plucks a male slip from the very top of the bowl with no pomp and circumstance.

"Michelangelo Mydea!" A plump boy stumbles out of the seventeen year old section, his big, fat rosy cheeks turning even redder and hotter as he hauls himself onto the stage, abashed looking, his jolly big stomach wobbling in the confines of his fine silken dress shirt. Iono gives Michelangelo a disgusted cursory look before calling out the call for volunteers; "Anyone volunteering for Michelangelo today?"

The boy hesitates for a moment, making Michelangelo blush redder in worry and start hyperventilating. Several people chuckle as the boy, with a swagger about him, a definite smile on his face, shouts "I volunteer!" Michelangelo moves faster than he probably ever has, quickly leaping down from the stage, his whole body jiggling obscenely. The boy swipes his hair out of his eyes and grins devilishly once he reaches the stage after exiting the seventeen year old pen. I detect something hollow about his smile, something off, something not excited, as he shouts with glee, "My name is Zircon O'Dile, watch out world!" It's not that he doesn't want to be in the Games; his glee is too genuine to be false and manufactured no matter his acting talent. No, something else is off. Maybe something that will distract him in the arena.

"One, give a big hand for Trinity Vegas and Zircon O'Dile!" Everyone in One applauds politely, a few daring souls whooping as the One seal in all of its golden glory fills the screen once again before fading. The scene changes, and I ignore the reaping of Plautia and Kaedon and the volunteering of Ardin and Tyberios as I scribble down plenty of notes about Trinity and Zircon. One's always our biggest challenger. Scylas tells me they look strong, powerful, just as we've trained them day and night to be. The Academy isn't just fighting. It's manners and strategy and composure and acting. The best Careers are jacks of all trades.

As the names of Ardin and Tyberios ring through Two's raucous square, the scene suddenly changes, the yells of joy cut off. A technology centered mustard yellow seal flashes over a dreary city. We're met by the somber, smoggy scene of Three. The streets are polluted, the air thick and gray, the buildings boring and uniform, the people rail thin and filthy, their heads drooping. The younger ones and some of the older ones cry and pout, but most are deathly silent, staring blankly ahead as Mayor Chipin and their flamboyant (to say the least) Escort, Luizy Cathede, waltz out onto the stage. The cameras show lone Takami sitting contemplatively at the back of the stage, his eyes closed in thought. A piece of Mayor Chipin's speech, and a flash of the video, and then Luizy stands before the boy's bowl. She always does things sideways; it's just her and her family's way. I inspect her odd garb; the teal turban, the flowy teal and lime green robes that would look Grecian if they weren't so outrageously colored. Tattoos of angels and hearts and other curious things cover her arms, hands, and face, and her makeup accentuates the strange markings. She giggles, tossing her curly hair, dyed lime green this year, over her shoulder before digging halfway into the bowl with her python-skin covered nails and selecting the slip of the male tribute. "Millard Vaith!" she screeches.

Millard stands stock still, and it takes a bit of coaxing from the Peacekeepers to get him moving. Once he's moving he does so willingly, moving out of the eighteen year old pen, his breathing quick and ragged, his cheeks flushed, his eyes darting around. I hear a strangled male cry from the background and the camera quickly zooms in on two stock still parents, definitely rich and powerful. A tear trickles down the wife's left cheek but other than that they are purely stoic, showing no emotion as their son stands next to Luizy. She asks for volunteers; no one does so although there is another strangled male cry, and the camera finds a boy in the shadows near the back of the square, older than Reaping age, much different looking from Millard, groaning in protest to the Reaping. Peacekeepers escort him away from the square as Luizy prances over to the female bowl and whisks a slip off the top.

"Fuj...Fujitsa LaMac!" Fujitsa strides out of the seventeen year old girl pen, trying to keep a level head. A girl in the same pen screams and holds onto Fujitsa's hand, trying to keep her in the pen. Peacekeepers break them apart, but not before the girl can kiss Fujitsa right on the lips. This starts an uproar, but a gunshot into the air by a Peacekeeper quiets everything down. Fujitsa's lip trembles as she mounts the stage, and her hands shake, but she manages to keep the tears in.

"District Three, here you have it, your two tributes for the Twenty Second Annual Hunger Games, Millard Vaith and Fujitsa LaMac!"

The smog and angst of Three disappear, replaced by the sunny, laid back coastlines of Four, the gray-blue seal stretching across the warm sands and cobbled paths of the cutesy capital town. A good four hundred kids are congregated in the square, half from the main city, the other half randomly selected through one communal lottery from the tiny fishing villages that line the coasts. The difference is obvious; the city kids are richer and prettier and healthier, and the fishermen kids are rugged and some of them filthy and unkempt, but all of them don't care much. Four usually produces both Careers.

Mayor Egron stumbles onto the stage. He's a man known to be too fond of whiskey, and he likes to drink up before the Reaping. At least he's coherent enough to mumble out a half decent speech as bubbly and excited Tytan Clortis, his hair dyed navy, his clothes all overly nautical, a big iron anchor necklace around his neck, bounces behind him. Mayor Egron steps away from the mic, Tytan presents the video, and then his hand is shooting into the girl's bowl. He snaps open the slip, yelling "Cordelia Nile!"

A girl steps out of the seventeen year old pen, fresh and clean, definitely a city girl. She's leanly muscled and doesn't look too frightened as she walks onto the stage. If I wasn't as perceptive I would have pegged her as a Career not ready to bid to volunteer, but I see her partially slouched stature, her thin, queasy smile. This girl isn't a student of any Academy; even Four doesn't teach them stage-climbing this terribly. She's probably just a fit normal girl. "Any volunteers?" Tytan croaks, drumming his fingers on his thighs. Everyone waits, and Cordelia blanches as the seconds tick by and no one volunteers. Soon she's breathing hard, and she starts to whimper a little bit, but she looks at someone in the crowd and manages to calm down. "No volunteers, I guess!" Tytan mumbles as he strides over to the male's bowl, and many girls whip their heads around to a girl in the eighteen year old pen who seems to be having a panic attack, probably the girl who was supposed to volunteer. The girl passes out, and Peacekeepers remove her and carry her into the Justice Building to be treated. Tytan sighs, shaking his head, before drawing a male slip from the depths of the bowl. He quickly unfolds it.

"Toco Sanchez!" A thin, grimy fisherman boy, his threadbare brown trousers sagging low on his hips, stumbles onto the stage from the thirteen year old pen, nibbling his lip absentmindedly. Before Tytan is even done saying "Any volunteers for Toco here?" two boys are already shouting "I VOLUNTEER!"

It's one of those rare cases where the Academies leave the two top prospects to battle it out to see who can make it to the stage first. Both males stand at the front of the eighteen year old section, and they jump over the rope corralling them in, and push off of each other as they make a mad dash towards the stage. They're both strong, eager, tall, malicious; Four will produce a good male volunteer to make up for their failure in the female department. The two boys start squabbling at the base of the stage, and the taller one lands a good punch on the other boy's nose. He stumbles backwards, his nose bleeding superfluously, and the other boy hauls himself onto the stage before the nose bleeder can react, shouting "Gotcha, Almieda!" before strutting like a true Career over to the microphone. He snatches it out of a startled Tytan's hands, and shouts, "Welcome one, welcome all. You're witnessing the rise of this year's Victor, Chavez Belasco, to the limelight." Every city kid except Cordelia and a few more reserved kids whoop and clap, while most of the fishermen kids remain silent and neutral.

"Four, congratulate your tributes for this Twenty Second Games, Cordelia Nile and Chavez Belasco!" The crowd produces adequate noise as the tropical retreats of Four fade to black. The reddish brownish seal of Five, the color similar to the deep rust color of Two's seal, and the camera swoops over the majestic red rock landscape of Five before zooming in on the square, were a couple thousand kids of Five have congregated, most of the kids in the District. Several dozen more trickle into their pens hurriedly as Mayor Rhianna Tenthal and Escort Ambrosia Heavenfall walk out side by side. Rhianna is dressed modestly in a tan pantsuit, but Ambrosia is decked out in a fluffy white number that floats ethereally around her like a herd of clouds moseying on around her. She wears a rainbow crown, and her voice is high pitched as she commemorates Five's only Victor, Anneliese, who waves quickly from her seat, dressed in a nice orange dress.

"Ladies first!" Ambrosia trills before dipping her hand gracefully into the female's bowl. Everyone holds their breath as Ambrosia slowly opens the slip. She pauses for agonizing suspense, and then shrieks "Bernadette Areli!"

In the twelve year old section, whispering, gasping girls step away from a diminutive girl wearing clothes coated with some type of animal hair. She's shocked into silence and immobility, but when the Peacekeepers prod her to get her moving she starts to cry quietly, and louder and louder as she approaches the stage. She's full out sobbing standing next to Ambrosia, who looks a little peeved by Bernadette as she picks the boy tribute. "Jayce Newman!"

A boy walks calmly out of the seventeen year old section, a smile slowly forming on his face. He's beaming once he reaches the stage, and he shakes whimpering and sobbing Bernadette's hand jovially once he reaches the stage. He seems a little uneasy, but he's smiling...glad? This boy confuses me; surely not even a trained Outlier would want to be Reaped if they weren't volunteering. He's thin although his clothes are nice, and dark circles are under his eyes. I cannot yet decode what is off about him, but just like with the One boy, there is something he is hiding.

"Congrats to Bernadette Areli and Jayce Newman, the tributes of District Five in these Twenty Second Hunger Games!"

Onto Six, just as downtrodden as Three, just as gray and polluted, the children just as thin and grimy. Several too many kids in their pens look high as the reddish seal of District Six melts away and the square materializes on the screen. A ruddy faced Mayor Ygritte shuffles out next to Escort Medusa Soldes. While Mayor Ygritte wrings his hands in worry throughout his quick speech, Medusa Soldes lavishes her time on screen, wishing well to Six's sole Victor, Calla Espenson, and congratulating the public on the lowered crime rates, lowered by twelve percent from the previous year. Several people in the crowd chuckle, and it's some of the only genuine laughter anyone in Six has ever shown at a Reaping. Medusa is dressed after her mythological namesake, her outfit a slim cocktail dress made out of snakeskin, and giant pumps made out of snakeskin, and rings and necklaces and bracelets made of snakeskin, and her best feature, the huge headdress she wears that has three dozen snake heads spurting from it. She evens wears contacts that make her eyes yellow and make her pupils thin to look like snake eyes. After the Dark Days video, Medusa is at the girl's bowl, swirling the mound of papers in the sphere pensively before hooking her hand around while deep in the pile. She pulls out the chosen paper, and reads "Liberty Miles!"

The girl stumbles out of the sixteen year old pen, hyperventilating, her entire body quivering in fear. She doesn't cry but she whimpers and drums her fingers on her thigh nervously, squinting her eyes closed and talking to herself in a quiet, firm voice. Medusa looks at her, quirking a painted green eyebrow before striding over to the male bowl. Her hands digs around for a while before she yells out "Fender Hopkins!"

The big, well muscled boy that emerges from the seventeen year old pen is wearing a _Pride Of Six_ hoodie and jeans, and this is the first Outlier that's really got me on hold. He looks strong, and confident; the only sign of worry he shows his a rattling exhale once he reaches the stage. But his walk is purposeful, confident, his posture impeccable. He looks well mannered and relatable, the boy-next-door type of tribute that every Career fears; they are the type of Outlier that the Capitol simply cannot get enough of. He quirks a weak smile after shaking still mumbling to herself Liberty, and then the scene moves on to Seven as Medusa shouts "Your tributes, Six, for these Games, Liberty Miles and Fender Hopkins!"

The camera swoops over the forests outside of the capital city of Seven before zooming in on the square, the russet brown seal of the Lumber District filling the screen on top of the forests. In every city in the District a week earlier, a male and female "tribute" were selected to be sent to the main Reaping in the capital of their District. Each town and village sends two representatives, and out of this pool of representatives the final two tributes are chosen. The people all stand, quiet and worried, but cleaner and stronger, in the square. Oakes and Paula wave briefly to their public from the stage. Mayor Balthazar and Escort Razzle Junehop emerge from the Justice Building. Mayor Balthazar gives a normal, well articulated speech before Razzle takes the forefront. Razzle-dazzle in her way, and she's dressed in an ostentatious red gown covered with flashing lights that are shaped like leaves. She twirls for the crowd and gives them all a headache. After the video, Razzle waltzes breezily over to the girl's bowl, whisking a slip off of the top of the pile. In an airy voice she calls, "Ivy Cross!"

The girl steps out of the sixteen year old pen, shocked at first. Her nails fly to her mouth and she begins to gnaw as she walks onstage. However, she gains her composure, and a small smile starts to spread across her face, a determined, cunning, sly smile. She would be another Outlier to watch out for, this Ivy Cross. A boy just past Reaping age bellows in distress, calling, "Ivy, my dear!" She just gives him the bird, and sends many into laughing fits. Scylas chuckles heartily, and I can't help but crack a thin lipped smile. Razzle ignores Ivy's bold move, instead selecting the male slip carefully from the right hand side of the bowl, midway deep. She unfolds the slip quickly, and bellows, "Malachi Gunderson!"

A boy like an ox starts to move out of the eighteen year old pen, but a boy yells "I volunteer!" from the sixteen year old section. Malachi looks taken aback, staring at whom must be a stranger to him. The boy stumbles onto the stage, and several growl in recognition. The Peacekeepers all look unsettled, but the boy takes the microphone from Razzle's hands and declares, "Baron Arbor. I'll be the curse of these Games." He howls in laughter, and everyone looks uneasy in Seven as the image of its picturesque square and woods fade, being replaced by the industrial bowels of Eight's capital, Gwinnett. That pair from Seven will surely be formidable. If they work together with other strong tributes, they could overthrow the Careers on their path to Victory if they're sly enough. Razzle's parting words ring in my head; "Congrats to Ivy Cross and Baron Arbor, Seven's tributes in the Twenty Second Annual Hunger Games!"

The goldenrod yellow seal of Eight flashes across the screen before the camera zooms in on the square. Eight's the last District beside Twelve that does not use the Preliminary Reaping method. The square is bursting with over six thousand kids, all quiet and nervous and fumbling with their hands and breathing heavy, unsure what to do with themselves, unsure how to tamp out the nerves. Mayor Tweed and Escort Alexandrius Hamis strut onto the stage. A snippet of Tweed's average speech, a snippet of Alexandrius' average introduction prior to the video, and a quick shot of Uriah and Woof, and then Alexandrius is walking over to the girl's bowl. He's dressed like an old-timey monarch, in a red velvet cape that dwarfs his lithe frame. He also wears a big, chunky golden crown, and his face is dusted in golden makeup. He rights his shiny crown before pulling the girls slip and reading aloud, "Gaia Imani!"

A girl whimpers as she stumbles out of the fifteen year old pen. She shivers, hugging herself, as the tears start to roll down her cheeks. She's sobbing quietly once she gets to the stage, and the whole square is dead quiet. There is another woman sobbing, the girl's mother. She holds a young child in her arms, and a little boy of no older than seven or eight clutches his mother's hand. "Gaia?!" he screeches. "GAIA?!" His mother quiets him as he begins to cry.

Alexandrius ignores the little boy's outburst, slipping over to the male bowl. He selects a slip after a careful inspection of all of the slips inside the glittering glass bowl. He snaps open the slip, and announces, "Calico D'Amboise!"

"NO!" a boy from the fourteen year old section barks loudly. He fights the Peacekeepers as they walk towards him to force him towards the stage. It isn't a long, drawn out, sobbing no. It's an affirmative no, saying _this is not allowed to happen._ "NO!" the boy screeches again as the Peacekeepers nab him. "I AM CALICO D'AMBOISE! I AM MAYOR TAMMI D'AMBOISE OF BUTTON'S GRANDSON! UNHAND ME!" The Peacekeepers lift him together, and he kicks and screams and cries as he is hauled onto the stage. He starts sobbing, and while Gaia's tears stop by the time she's shaking hands with Calico, Calico's tears come full force, and he can barely shake Gaia's hand, he's shaking so much. The two younger tributes troop off stage after Alexandrius booms, "Eight, your tributes, Gaia Imani and Calico D'Amboise!" A shot of the golden grain of Outer Nine swoops across the screen, the bottle green insignia of District Nine overlaid on the rolling grain fields. Then a different scene is presented, one of thousands of gaunt Nine children, half from the port cities, half from the tiny villages that are sprinkled throughout the back country of Nine, where the real farms are. Everyone looks quiet, defeated, dreary, somber, already dead, as Mayor Listange and Escort Patrisa Ngostic tromp onto the stage. Mayor Listange gives a quick speech, his ugly putrid green suit hurting my eyes. The color must be in in the Capitol; the Listange's have a large presence in the Capitol. A quick shot of Unity waving bravely to the crowd is shown. The brave woman; she's lost every single tribute Nine has ever had since her Games, the very first. Then it's Patrisa on her own. She's a jiggly, larger woman who wears a big fluffy gown of a lilac color that looks like it is made of living lilacs; it probably is, knowing Patrisa and her obsession with flowers and the avant garde. She struts confidently in her lilac pumps, throwing her light green hair over her back, and brushing her fingers across her light green tinted skin and lilac makeup before she hobbles over to the girl's bowl. She plucks a slip from the bottom and says the female tribute's name. "Saffronelle Alumius!"

"Sage!" a girl shrieks as Saffronelle, or Sage, as others seem to call her, stumbles out into the aisle out of the fifteen year old pen. One of her friends begins to sob hard, and Sage lets a few tears slip down her cheeks. She tries to look brave and does admirably as she hoists herself onto the stage without help. She sucks in a rattling breath and keeps most of the tears at bay, although a few slip out. Patrisa struts over to the male bowl and digs around for a while before selecting the "perfect" slip in her opinion. She unfolds it and announces, "Luke Saturn!"

A cold, imposing boy walks calmly out of the seventeen year old section, his eyes narrowed, his lithe body well built. He snarls once he's on the stage, and I peg him as a threat. Any boy like that is a threat; it's not a question. He's not acting tough like Sage. He _is_ tough. Luke shakes Sage's hand too roughly, and then they separate as they are lead back stage after Patrisa declares, "District Nine's representatives for the Twenty Second Hunger Games, Sage Alumius and Luke Saturn!" Nine fades, being replaced by the ranches of ten, the fole grass gray emblem of Ten shining brilliantly.

The ranches are replaced by the rickety square of Ten, filled with only around a thousand kids this time; they're very selective in Ten and sometimes pool together a dozen tiny villages for one Preliminary Reaping. The kids here are minimally richer than in most of the other Lower Districts, but many of them still are too skinny and dirtier than they should be. Mayor Laneso and the Escort, Fixtata Discos, walk out together, grinning at the crowds. Mayor Laneso gives a jovial, pump-you-up speech, trying to ease the nerves of the kids in the crowd. Oxen waves curtly at the crowd, and then Fixtata plays the video before twirling over to the girls bowl. She loves her last name, and as always is dressed like a giant disco ball, her hair, makeup, and heels all silvery. She prances around the stage giggling on her way to the girls bowl, and one she gets there she digs around for too long before dramatically taking forever to read the girl's name. "Miriam Park!"

A thin girl walks out of the thirteen year old pen, her eyes narrowed. She doesn't cry, although her hands shake and little bit and she begins to sweat. She keeps herself calm, cool, collected, and steels herself, clenching her jaw as she takes the stage. I'm impressed. Fixtata traipses over to the male's bowl, and selects the male representative for District Ten. "Rufus Braunvieh!"

A boy emerges from the seventeen year old section, one or two tears trickling down his cheeks. He wipes them away and tries to steady his breathing once he pauses next to Fixtata and Miriam. Miriam and Rufus shake hands as Fixtata shouts, "Ten, your tributes this year, Miriam Park and Rufus Braunvieh!"

Onto Eleven, rolling over orchards and farms and dirt roads full of wagons and trucks transporting fruits. The chocolate brown seal of Eleven shimmers over these scenes before fading, and then the square of Lima, the capital city, is zoomed in on. Nearly ten thousand kids from all around Eleven have collected in this massive square of District Eleven, and many are antsy and nervous as Mayor Wendell and Escort Phemia Empire amble out onto the stage. Mayor Wendell gives an impassioned speech that means nothing, and Pumpkin waves pleasantly to the crowds. Phemia speeds through the video, and then bounces over to the girl's bowl. She's dressed in an outfit that looks like marble, and she looks like a sculpture come to life, a new look from her this year. She digs around in the bowl for a couple of moments before pulling out a slip. "Soya Chaffer!"

A girl starts sobbing as she walks out of the seventeen year old pen, and mumbles audibly, "Bad things already happened to me, bad things already happened to me!" She starts hyperventilating, and she tries and fails at calming herself. She's shaking and she cries a little bit, but then she suddenly brightens upon realizing something. She grabs the microphone out of Phemia's hands. "Something bad already happened to me; that means I am going to be Victor!" Phemia claps wildly and the crowd looks at her like she's loony. Phemia then twirls over to the boys bowl and picks a slip. "Omri Plower!"

The boy looks stunned as he stumbles out of the eighteen year old pen, like he never thought this was going to happen to him. He collects himself once he's to the stage, and he looks confident and cunning once he's put together. He's broad shouldered and dangerous looking; another definite threat, I am sure. Then Eleven is disappearing as Phemia announces, "Eleven, your tributes, Soya Chaffer and Omri Plower!"

The grimy, polluted streets of tiny Twelve appear on screen, the coal black seal of the District nearly blending in with the dark, dreary background of the desolation of Twelve. There's not much to show besides starving children and hollow coal miners, so they zoom in on the square extra early. Only filled with just below a thousand kids, Twelve looks so small compared to the other Districts. Mayor Akite and wizened Escort Edna Trinket take the stage. Mayor Akite, new to the position after the previous Mayor died of a stroke, gives a purely shitty speech. He stumbles away, and Edna motions to Twelve's Capitol Mentor, the strangely plain Eris Glasshine. Edna herself is rather normal for an escort; dressed in a normal-ish light green and pastel yellow dress, her makeup the same color. She shows the video like a classic Escort; she's been an Escort since the Games began, after all. She then selects the female tribute, not screwing around, picking her slip quickly. "Carmen Ionique-Astron!" she announces clearly, her voice booming through the square.

"NO!" a male shouts from the eighteen year old section. "Not my...not my wife!" he sobs. A girl shuffles out of the seventeen year old section, sobbing but trying to smile. Everyone gasps involuntarily, and so do I. She's very pregnant, probably eight or nine months so. She awkwardly waddles onto the stage, and she tries to stop crying for someone, not just her husband. The camera finds who she is looking at; a woman around Carmen's age, and three younger children. They must be her other children, that is the only explanation. The oldest is crying while the other two don't understand that their mother and sibling have been sentenced to death. In most other Districts someone would save Carmen and her child, but this is Twelve. No one volunteers for the poor girl. Edna sighs audibly, looking sadly, truly sadly, at Carmen before selecting the male tribute. "Gaylord Parthenia!"

Several girls in their pens clap and hoot as a boy emerges from the sixteen year old section, sticking his tongue out at them. "WHORE!" one of the girls shouts, and a Peacekeeper quiets her. Gaylord rolls his eyes as he mounts the stage, concealing his shock and instead flashing a flirty, endearing smile and flexing his well built arms. Well, well built for Twelve at least. He waves to the crowd after shaking sobbing Carmen's hand. Edna yells, "Your tributes, Twelve, Carmen Ionique-Astron and Gaylord Parthenia!" They stumble off stage, and the recap is done.

"That was...interesting. Not a super normal year at all," Scylas comments. "Now let's get going, we can compare notes later. The train's here by now."

We leave the room, and I feel the weight of the notebook in my hands. This notebook helped save Scylas and Lucia. Hopefully it can save either Tyberios or Ardin as well.

* * *

 **A/N: So there you have it, the Reaping Recap! A lot longer than I thought it would be xD**

 **One thing: I ned all alliances by the first day of training. I'm going to do training chapters by alliance and then one chapter for training from loners POV's. So yeah, if you want an alliance get it together ASAP.**

 **edit: Tracee being stupid again. To set up an alliance you must PM the others authors/submitters and then tell me the agreed alliance. Here are the alliances in existence: (alliance names not permanent if you guys think of something better PM me it)**

 **Careers: Zirc, Trinity, Tyberios, Ardin, Chavez, Cordelia? No outliers I am keeping this relatively canon Career pack**

 **Girls Meet World: Bernie, Libby, Gaia, Sage, Carmen**

 **Optimism Meets Pessimism: Soya, Lord**

 **Showstoppers: Ivy and Omri**

 **Moments: Jayce and Miriam**

 **Also, an alliance is not essential. Most tributes would not be in an alliance right from the get go in a normal Games. I'm going to be doing alliances realistically this time and this means that they all won't last forever unlike most of the alliances in Oceanside. Feel free to do alliances all I am saying is that they are not that important and I like writing solo tributes just as much if not more than alliances. And everyone's going to be on their own anyway at some point :)**

 **A lot of you have been commenting on how some tributes are cliched, and I agree, but I accepted some of them because I have never written characters like them before and the reason I am doing this is to grow as a writer, not to make the most unique story. Not attacking anyone or anything just making a simple statement this has just been bouncing around my head as of late xD**

 **Already almost to 250 reviews. Whew. Thanks so much everyone!**

 **So far Ardin is topping the poll with 9 votes (We all love our Two girls, don't we? xD), and Fender and Ivy are just behind her with 8. To see the other results go on my profile, and vote if you have not :D**

 **Edit: Both Ivy and Ardin have 9 votes now and Fender is still at 8, no other moves into the top 3 highest vote getters**

 **So, what did you think of the Reapings? The reactions? Did I do your tribute(s) well? Thoughts on the writing?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	20. Goodbyes and Trains: One

**A/N: Now here are the Goodbyes and Trains for District One! We have twelve tributes, one from each District, 6 males, 6 females, for goodbyes. The other twelve tributes will be featured in the train rides. Since goodbyes are usually much shorter than train rides, I tried to give them more depth and meaning so people whose tributes show up in them don't have less than those who show up in the train rides. Most of the tributes that get put in goodbyes have a more emotional facet to them or an interesting family or friend relationship I wanted to explore. I hope you enjoy reading :D**

 **P.S. Some of the songs I'm using from this point onward won't be from submitter's forms. If I find a good song that fits a character, I'm using it. :) I also am doing this by District just so I can get more out to you guys quicker and so I don't have a massive 12,000 word goodbye chapter xD**

* * *

 _I'll never forget that feeling_

 _When I watched you disappear_

 _When you made me stop believing_

 _I could fight away the fear_

 _Now the smoke has cleared_

 _And the end is near_

 _It was my illusion_

 _Like a broken dream I was incomplete_

 _But your love was never missing_

 _I feel like I am breathing again_

 _I feel like I am seeing again_

 _I feel like I am breathing again_

* * *

 ** _Zircon O'Dile, 17_**

 ** _District One Male_**

My stomach is still doing somersaults once I get back stage. My breathing is uneven, broken, and I just want to bang my head against the wall over and over again. I don't know why. This has been my dream forever. Every night, I would stare at the crowned moldings that ringed the ceiling of my bedroom and ponder with a smile about leaping onto the stage as I feel asleep. I would dream of the volunteering, the rush of the crowd as I slipped into the chariot and the interview chair, the Capitolites all cheering my name over and over again as I walked off of the stage. Even Fabula was screeching my name in those fantasies. Then even my Mentors would be in awe, old hardass Esquiria and huge Kenyan and sulky Soren, as I swept through the arena no matter what it was, leaving broken alliances and split skulls in my wake like the footprints of tributes I would track hunting. I would stand on the stage, President Snow placing the crown atop my sandy blonde haired head, and the crowd would morph. Soon they'd just become one undulating ribbon of color bear two words: _ZIRCON O'DILE._ I daydreamed, I night dreamed, I twilight dreamed, I dusk dreamed, hell, I dream dreamed about this moment even, sitting in the Justice Building with a blinding smile as I shake my father's and brother's hands and hug my mother and sister and slap Rubi and Romeo on the back and laugh with them, and then even share a passionate kiss with Tomas. Instead I'm curled up on a cold plastic folding chair in the Justice Building, not wanting my family and friends to see me like this, broken, aching, queasy, _scared_. I should not be scared. This is what I had always wanted. The fear that now struck through me, mixed with sickly heart break, was poignant enough to bury me in a mound of mixed emotions. I wanted to be excited, and parts of me were. But other parts of me were so scared that I couldn't move. I couldn't even move when my parents and siblings enter the room, laughing and smiling. My eyes burst open and I tilt my head up to meet their eyes, and my breath rattles into my lungs.

They all pause. Will gives me a strange look, same with Glint. My mother looks sad, and my father looks almost...disappointed? No, that's not it. Rueful? I take another shuddering breath, and I try, I try so hard, to compose myself.

"Just...just jitters. Shock," I hiss, and I resurrect a haunting chuckle from the depths of my throat. Everyone gets cold feet going to the Games. No one is truly fearless. No one is truly courageous enough to look the Games in the eyes and not feel even a prick of fear. This is what this is. Shock, jitters, nerves, butterflies, usual second thoughts. I'm sure Trinity in the next room over is feeling the same way.

That makes me laugh. Trinity Vegas, curled in a near fetal position on a folding chair, fear coursing through her veins. Ha. The bitch is famous throughout the Academy for not only her skill but her ruthlessness and courage. Seeing her on the brink of tears anywhere, and in any position, would be a rarity that few would ever be graced with seeing. I don't hate her. She can just be...well, a bitch. Most girls around here are.

"You'll be great, son," my father says, the first to speak up. He moves forward, and shakes my hand tight and hard. I shake equally as hard, and the hard knot in my throat loosens and fades away. I stand, and shake Will's hand, my confidence returning. Just jitters. It's all they are. I wrap my arms around Mom, around Glint, and then my chest is swelled with pride and I'm backing in the dreams, with people screaming my name and blood splattering across my sword.

Rubi and Romeo come in next. Rubi's face is ruddy and I know she's already been screaming my name on the streets and gathering sponsor money for me or something crazy and Rubi-like. Romeo looks pale and worried, and his eyes glisten for tears. I talk animatedly with Rubi for a while, and then she looks over at Romeo. We all sense that something is wrong. Rubi hugs me one more time before leaving Romeo and I alone in the room. We stand in silence, and then Romeo kisses me tenderly on the lips. I am shocked, and he walks away. Once he reaches the door, he says, "I could have treated you so much better than Tomas, Zirc. I could have loved you so much better." He's gone, and I stand there dazed until the Peacekeeper comes in to escort me to the train.

As I'm walking, I realize Tomas never came. I'd been hoping against hope that he would come and make amends before I left. But the fading buzz of Romeo's lips against mine clouds my mind, and I don't know what to think anymore. I don't need these distractions, but I have them. I'll have to push forward. I encase myself in the frivolous fantasies as I stride out to the train. Once its shiny silver carapace comes into view thoughts of boys and kisses and broken hearts leave the back of my head, and all I can feel is exhilaration. I'm actually here. I'm actually going into the Games.

* * *

 _I am a beauty that once was_

 _Delicate intrigue, never something special_

 _But never out of your league, I've_

 _Battled with this twice now_

 _He came to me said_

 _"here's how"_

 _Spoke a single line_

 _While we dance in our scene_

 _I'll just die in your arms_

 _And my life is complete_

* * *

 ** _Trinity Vegas, 18_**

 ** _District One Female_**

I feel the parting brush of my parent's hands, my little sister Princess's firm hug, and Claus soft kiss on my forehead as I saunter out to the train. My parents, shaking my hands regally, confidently. Princess, clutching to me, scared I won't make it back just because her best friend Minoa's older sister died last year. Claus, not kissing me from the love that makes people copulate and produce offspring. Claus, kissing me like a sister. Claus, kissing my wistfully and whispering in my ear, "Come back, Trinity. You need to get your eleventh star. Come home. I'll get a star tattoo, too."

I don't know why he was so worried, but he shouldn't be. I'll be fine, I'll be okay, he doesn't have to worry about me. He really doesn't. I'm not going to have some pathetic mental and emotional break down right now about how the Games are "oh so bad! I have to kill kids, oh no!" That's not how it works. Sure, maybe that Zircon kid feels that way. I don't feel that way; you're not supposed to feel that way. Strength and weaponry prowess aren't the only factors the Mentors and trainers look at when they're selecting tributes for the Games. They look at bravery, work ethic, confidence, and the ability to kill, the most integral part of being a Career. If we didn't kill, what would be the point of us? What would be the point of any of it?

The Peacekeepers don't need to escort me roughly like they tried to. I walk calmly between them, head held high, back ramrod straight, eyes closed just a little bit in the way that makes me look prettiest. I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. I know there's no cameras around, but I need to look presentable for Esquiria. She hasn't had a female Victor yet. She's infamous for how hard she is on One's female volunteers. Most of them are just too weak, cracking like delicate pottery in the arena, overcooked by the pressures of the arena. I have to remind her why she chose me. I have to remind her why I will sit next to her on that stage next year. I have to remind her that I will not crack no matter how high she turns up the heat in the kiln.

Behind the Justice Building is the train platform. The silvery train is already there, puffing a thin stream of smoke into the air, its sleek body glittering in the midday light. Zircon is already waiting on the platform, marveling at the train, a hyper grin on his face. Only a year younger than me, and why does it seem like he's a twelve year old in a candy store and I'm going to be the stranger, kindly going on with my business, that he smacks into?

I step gracefully onto the platform, and I give Zircon a polite, thin lipped smile. He's shaking with excitement, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I didn't see ADHD on his Academy profile when I was reviewing it last night; he must just seriously be this excited about getting on the train. I'll admit, the Capitol is going to be a fun experience, training too. Interviews will be the cream on top of the cake, and then it'll be the Games. I feel my own wave of jitters sweep through me, and my thin lipped smile is genuine as I imagine rising up in that tube and being deposited in some far off arena. I don't know why I want to enter the arena. But I just always...have. Like there was no other choice. My mother said I came out fighting; it took me more than a day to be born. I just wouldn't come out. She said that fighting was in my blood, fighting is what I was. Briefly I wonder what I would be like if I hadn't gone into the Academy younger than normal, if I hadn't gone in at all, if I lived somewhere like Eight or Nine or Eleven.

Stupid ideas. Kick into gear, Trinity. You're stepping into the fucking dining cart, and Esquiria is sitting nearby.

If I could straighten my back any more, I did. While Zircon was relaxed, smiling, as he strode over to the table where our two Mentors, official Esquiria and unofficial Kenyan, sat alongside our Escort, Iono. I sat down politely while Zircon, still polite, slouched a bit in his chair. There were appetizers on the table, and Zircon started picking at them, eating a few dried figs as the train chugged to life. Soon we were zipping forward at speeds faster than I had imagined, and yet it didn't feel like I had moved an inch. It was the weirdest feeling. Even though my family was rich, I'd only rode in a vehicle a couple of times. With how small One was really, there wasn't much need for cars and trucks and hovercraft and trains. My stomach flip flopped weirdly a bit, but I pushed it away, picking up my cutlery perfectly and spearing a piece of broiled asparagus off of the plate in front of me gently so the plate would not wobble. I bit off a part of the vegetable and forced myself to swallow it; it was dipped in some foreign spice that made me want to regurgitate it. After I swallowed, I smiled wide, dazzling Esquiria. I had to be dazzling her.

She started laughing uproariously, mumbling, "As...asparagus in your teeth, hon!" She continued to chuckle, and my cheeks quickly flushed. My breathing increased rapidly, and I tried to calm myself down, stuffing the rest of the asparagus down my throat before standing. What did I do? Did I run and look like a coward? Did I stay and endure the jokes she would surely make at my expense? I knew Esquiria; she hated the youth of One. I had to make my decision; standing here awkwardly, knees bent at a strange angle, half sitting, half standing, was the worst decision. I quickly sat back down and folded my hands on my lap.

"So, Asparagus Teeth," Esquiria asked with a lopsided grin. I could smell her breath; it smelled faintly of whiskey. I bit my lip and did not recoil like I wanted to. "What's your strategy? Eat all the asparagus before the Games and get it stuck in your teeth so you can pull it out later and eat it once you're hungry?"

That, sadly, actually wasn't a terrible idea at all.

* * *

 **A/N: I hoped you liked this! These will come out relatively fast, and we should be getting through these quickly I hope. It was nice exploring these two, and I tried to make Zirc's as long as I could without making everything annoyingly stretched out so he wouldn't have a lot less than Trinity. These are always fun to write, especially trains. I could write ten thousand words for each train ride but I stopped myself xD I hope this was a good second look at these tributes, and hopefully their characters are firming up in your minds.**

 **Here are the alliances as of now. Sorry if I forgot any:**

 **Careers: Trinity, Zirc, Ardin, Tyberios, Chavez, Cordelia**

 **Girls Meet World: Bernie, Libby, Gaia, Sage, Carmen**

 **Half Full and Half Empty: Soya and Lord**

 **Showstoppers: Fuji, Millard, Ivy, Omri**

 **I hoped you enjoyed this chapter! I just have one thing:**

 **I started a little Big Brother experiment project where I'll have 6 Houseguests. It's my second priority; this story is my first. It's just a different point of view and format and fandom and everything to get me used to writing things other than what I am comfortable with. I think we have most of the slots filled, but if you like Big Brother, I think I have one male slot left. :)**

 **But that's beside the point. Who did you like better here, Zirc or Trinity? Have your thoughts of them changed?**

 **Trivia (Still have not figured out sponsor system help xD): Worth 1 point, who placed 2nd in the 21st Hunger Games (hint, Lucia's Prologue or Anneliese's Mentor Intro Prologue)**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	21. Goodbyes and Trains: Two

**A/N: Today we have the Goodbye and Train for District Two! I am happy to revisit this pair and I'm excited to see them develop in the future :D Enjoy your reading, I hope it is good! :)**

 **Trigger Warnings: Profanity**

* * *

 _And all I can say, is as of today, evading the greys._

 _Midnight flights and lack of sleep._

 _And migraine headaches, and sweaty sheets._

 _And all those things that point to me, oh yeah._

* * *

 ** _Tyberios Palatium, 18_**

 ** _District Two Male_**

I step onto the stage, the air around me bulging as it fills with the loud cries of approval from the general public congregated in the square below me. I stand on the stage, and repress a thin smile, nodding curtly at the crowd as I shake Ardin's hand. My body feels numb, I feel nothing. I feel blank, empty, limitless, gray, clean, vacuous, any other damn synonym you can contrive. Every word revolves in my head as the cheers wrap themselves around my shoulders like a heavy woolen cloak, a bit damp, but it masks me from everything. I feel empty. I feel nothing.

It feels so damn good.

Not even a prick of pain in the back of my head. My brain is just that, a brain, a wet, bloody heap of tissue and tendons and whatever else is in there; it is just a brain. It is not a red hot nebula of pain throbbing in my skull; it is not a fizzling stick of dynamite with the fuse perpetually just about to blow; it is not a firework crackling awkwardly in the confines of my head, trying to fight its way out down the back of my throat, out my nose, out my ears. I feel blissful _nothing_ standing there, the grimy warm air hitting my face as it is filled to the max with adoring yells. It bubbles around me like hot tar broiling around my skin, and I feel the pain inching its way back in, trickling in like thick sludge, sliding forward sluggishly. It sears my skull, and I try to repress to urge to fight back out to that stage as Cretta guides Ardin and I into the Justice Building. My angle is stoic, emotionless, gruff. Running back out onto the stage and gesturing wildly for them to start screaming my name again to erase my migraines will ruin my image completely. By the time I am sitting alone in one of the back rooms of the Justice Building, the pain is back full force, slamming its angry fists around my head, making up for time lost. I squeeze my eyes shut, blocking out the slate gray walls and the granite bench I sit on, the only piece of furniture I sit on. I press my warm, throbbing forehead to the cool, slick granite. I let out a soft hiss, and the granite heats up and the solace in the cool fades away. I press my forehead down again, on a new patch, and I repeat the process until my family comes in.

"What the actual fuck are you doing?!" Fulmia asks, her arms crossed indignantly. My mother and father, Gaius and Euritea, are well known Peacekeepers who have a calm, quiet, caring disposition. I do not know how Fulmia and myself came from them. A spitfire daughter and a son with a volanco bursting constantly in his head? We must be adopted. My parents stand behind Fulmia and try to calm her down, smiling. My father places a hand on her shoulder. She shrugs it off violently, and my father staggers backward, his smile folding into a sour grimace. Fulmia gets right up in my face and glares into my eyes.

"You're going to die, Tyberios fucking Palatium. Don't be too long at the River Styx; the Reaper doesn't like when his poor damned souls tarry on their journey to everlasting Hell." She snickers wildly and walks out of the door, slamming it behind her.

My parents crowd around me and hug me tight. "It's alright, son," my father murmurs. "Fulmia is bitter ever since she found out she was not accepted into the Peacekeeper Institute. Forgive her, you both can make amends when you return."

"She didn't make it? How?! She's damn amazing!" I reply, astonished.

"They said her disposition was too...unpredictable, and that she was...unreliable...to Panem's safety," my mother says with a thin lipped smile, her dark blue eyes twinkling with unspoken words. I nod slowly. I always thought Fulmia was a little unsettled, a little against authority, but I never thought she'd felt like that. I'd never realized why she truly hated me so much. Because I was what she detested so much deep down.

"Have a good trip, son. Do us proud," my father mutters kindly. I hug them again before they leave, and then I sit down on the bench. A couple of my friends, Marion and Pablo, come in, and I chat and joke with them for a bit. I don't really have any...deep friends really. We just fight and laugh and sometimes do illegal stuff, nothing serious, nothing most kids don't do. After bidding them farewell, I sit on the bench for a half hour alone. I knew that we have to wait longer than the other Districts due to the thing about us being so close to the Capitol, but I never knew that it would be this grueling, alone in the gray box of a room, with the pain driving my jittery brain into splinters, sharp and thin and small. When the Peacekeepers open the door, I shoot to my feet and squeeze my eyes closed for a moment before following them out of the room stiffly. I feel everything right now. It's too much.

* * *

 _And there's a storm you're starting_

 _I'm a wanderess_

 _I'm a one night stand_

 _Don't belong to no city_

 _Don't belong to no man_

 _I'm the violence in the pouring rain_

 _I'm a hurricane_

 _I'm a hurricane_

 _I'm a hurricane_

* * *

 ** _Ardin Varnell, 18_**

 ** _District Two Female_**

Walking out of the goodbye room, everything is splayed in tactical maps in my head. I must walk through the halls proudly; maybe these Peacekeepers will spare a few coins to my sponsor fund if they see how put together I am even behind doors. Not that the Justice Building is private; it's literally pretty much the definition of public space after all. I study the two Peacekeepers that walk on either side of me. The man on my left has a thick scar on his bottom lip and his mouth is curled in a prominent frown. His bad side is obvious, isn't it? He might hit his wife, or drink too much on Saturday nights alone in the pub. Then there's the other guy, with a youthful face and a bounce in his step and unblemished skin. One look into his dark blue eyes, though, and I know he isn't this innocent man prancing in front of me. What did he do? Did he rape a girl when he was teenager? Did his father beat him and he does the same to his young children just out of instinct? Did he kill someone else in the Academy like lots of people accidentally do? I never did, although, to be honest, I considered it when a few girls were higher than me in the rankings. Sometimes tactics can't be disarming someone or moving them. Sometimes tactics have to be total elimination, murder. And, anyway, tactics are never honest. Tactics are lies and deceit woven together into a working tapestry called a plan.

I reach the platform, and I keep my head up as Tyberios emerges from the Justice Building as well. We stand on the platform. I'm airier, he's gruffer. It's just our angles. I'm playing the so-called Swan, the graceful girl-next-door who shocks the audience with her prowess. Tyberios is playing the Brute, the gruff hunk of muscle with only one agenda: to pulverize the competition. I wonder how good he'll be at his job. I know I'll be splendid with mine.

As I step onto the train, I let everything go. I imagine a bundle of balloons in my hands, and I let them go one by one as my foot slowly steps over the threshold into the dining car of the train. I watch the balloons float away in my mind's eye. _Too-polite m_ _other. Harsh father. Transgender sister. Disapproving brother. Carefree friends. Rivalry with Venia Turettes. Academy Roster. The perfect life._ I hold onto one balloon and chuckle at it what it says, and keep it to myself.

Tyberios and I walk into the dining car. Cretta, Headmistress, and Scylas sit at the table. None of them are eating. Cretta is rigid as we sit down, Headmistress gives her signature cold, boring-into-your-soul look, and Scylas just nibbles on his lip and folds his hands in his lap. I start with the most obvious bad side. Headmistress. Every cadet out of Two knows the screams that come from her office. Never has she touched any of her children, but when a cadet misbehaves, they're in Headmistress Manchas' office for an hour, and when they come out they can barely walk and are sent to the infirmary. I never went up to her office. I have no idea what it looks like. Some say Headmistress has leftover rage from her Games, some say she didn't do all the killing she needed to. I say that she just disciplines her cadets because she thinks it's the right thing to do. She thinks it's the way to make them respectable and honorable, and in many cases what she does does whip kids into shape. Headmistress is stone cold. If I ever voiced my opinions on her quasi-illegal punishments, positive or not, she'd have me killed some way or another. That's why I don't say a word. Cretta's bad side is probably something with a drug or abuse filled child hood and a terrible temper. I can just sense it. Scylas seems the hardest, but then I remember the silver card a trainer gave him one day when he was teaching a strength class. He blushed and stuttered, the first time I'd ever seen Scylas Ondino frazzled. Something bad. A secret lover? Threats from Snow? Ah, Snow, that has to be it. What sort of threats? To his family? To a lover? Everyone knows about Victor prostitution, maybe that? Who knows? It's fun to decode the people around me and to know that I am unreadable to most.

After a moment of no talking, Headmistress clears her throat. "Tyberios, Ardin. Welcome. So, this is how it works. Scylas and I have built up notes about all of the other tributes; we watched the recap while we were waiting for the train to come. We'll give you our opinions, and then we'll split in half to talk about solo strategy and the like, tribute and their respective Mentor. Tyberios, you're with Scylas. Ardin, you're with me."

"So, after studying the Reapings, we've found the most viable threats. The two from One of course, and the male from Four. The girl is a wildcard at this point; she could either be a Career or a weak, mundane party girl that goes in the Bloodbath. There was especially something off with the One male, and the Four male seemed especially frightening. The girl from One seemed pretty run of the mill, although she seems to have an extra edge to her. The boy from Six looks strong but that's just looks; I wouldn't peg him too high at all. The pair from Seven are both formidable and look dangerous. The boy from Nine seems dangerous as well, and his partner could go either way. The boy from Eleven also seems very tough, and from Twelve...well, a pregnant girl was Reaped."

Silence. Nothing. I process the information, and I feel a bit disgusted.

"No one volunteered?" I ask, stupefied. "I know it's Twelve, but still...a pregnant girl? Has this ever happened before?"

"A pregnant girl was Reaped from Two in my year," Scylas replies. "But she got replaced by my District partner. After that, though, the Capitol took notice to the possibility of teen pregnancies in future Games and made a clause about it. The clause states that the expectant mother cannot receive an abortion or be helped with childbirth in any way. If they give birth to the child on their own that is fine, and if it is in the arena the child would be rescued and returned to their home, but if the birth does not happen by the time the mother dies, the baby dies as well. That girl was VERY pregnant, however. She could give birth to her baby on the train, or she might not have it until post-Bloodbath. No one knows."

After we chat a bit more about some of the other, not as threatening tributes, we split apart. Cretta goes into her room to start calling sponsors already, and Tyberios and Scylas head off to another car. That leaves Headmistress and myself sitting at the table. Silence stretches between us for a long moment, and I look into her cold eyes and at her sharp cheekbones and wonder how one woman can be so powerful.

"I trust you have a plan," Headmistress mutters. I lay it out for her step by step; the honor, the loyalty, the injury, the infection, the pity, the split, the stalk, the slaughter, the feast, the Victory. She looks at me long after I've finished, and then sighs.

"Elaborate plans can be as detrimental as they can be helpful, Ardin."

"I am willing to take that risk, Headmistress."

"Please, call me Serephina. We're going to be working on a more...intimate basis now."

I smile at Serephina, and as we talk further in depth about my strategy and about the other tributes, I think about the balloon I did not let go when I stepped onto this train and entered the cruel, ugly world of the Games.

 _The girl with a plan; Ardin Varnell._

* * *

 **A/N: This took too long for no good reason. I just didn't want to write this not because of the characters or anything like that, just because...well, I have been distracted as of late xD Yeah this is a really late post I just wanted to get this out ASAP for any of you night lurkers that are still on at what is past midnight here in the East Coast/Midwest area. :)**

 **Alliances Right Now (Sorry if I forgot one, please remind me if I did):**

 **Careers: Zirc, Trinity, Tyberios, Ardin, Chavez, Cordelia**

 **Girls Meet World: Bernie, Libby, Gaia, Sage, Carmen**

 **Water Glasses: Soya, Lord**

 **Showstoppers: Fuji, Millard, Ivy, Omri**

 **Mortem: Jayce, Miriam**

 **Who did you like better here, Tyberios or Ardin? Have your thoughts on them changed? What do you think about the Capitol's rules about teen pregnancies in the Games?**

 **I might get the Three chapter out as well tomorrow, so you might not get a notification about it so check in if you want because I will try to get it out by 9 tomorrow if I can. No promises however :) I'll probably do Big Brother: Bite Size instead.**

 **Trivia: (I am going to do a trivia question from each POV to see how much you remember what you read):**

 **Tyberios (1 pt): Why was Fulmia refused to be a Peacekeeper?**

 **Ardin (1 pt): What is the name of Ardin's generic Academy angle?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	22. Goodbyes and Trains: Three

**A/N: Today we have Millard and Fuji from 3! I'm excited to write these two and see what you guys think of them. Thanks for all of the reviews and the support everyone, you're all super duper amazing! :D**

 **Trigger Warning: Profanity, talk of sex, intense romantic scenes, and homophobia**

* * *

 _Hey, girl, look at my mom, she's got it going on_

 _Ha, you're blinded by her jewelry._

 _When you turn your back she pulls out a flask_

 _And forgets his infidelity._

 _Uh-oh, she's coming to the attic, plastic,_

 _Go back to being plastic._

 _No one ever listens, this wallpaper glistens_

 _One day they'll see what goes down in the kitchen._

 _Places, places, get in your places_

 _Throw on your dress and put on your doll faces._

 _Everyone thinks that we're perfect_

 _Please don't let them look through the curtains._

* * *

 ** _Millard Vaith, 18_**

 ** _District Three Male_**

Put on your mask, Millard. You're at the masquerade; the rest of your now short life will be a masquerade, a successive chain of extravagant parties and then the hangover, the Games with their pain and angst and terror, and even when you're hung over you've got to keep the mask on. It can't slip, nothing can show. I hate myself as I shake and my breathing rattles and I am uneasy, I don't have the mask, I can't lose my disguise this early on in the ball. Put on your mask, Millard. Ignore Connor's screams, the sobbing of Sonya, of Jami, of Hayley, of Beki in their pens. Don't shake and gape when you see your mother, light years away on the other end of the square, let on tear drip down her impeccable cheek for you.

The girl next to me, Fujitsa, is trying her hardest to put on a mask herself. I pity her; I see the ring on her finger, the girl screaming and crying and kicking in the arms of the Peacekeepers, still whining Fujitsa's name loudly while one of the Peacekeepers clamps his hand over her mouth. Love, young and blemished, but those two girls have love. I realize she must be homosexual, too. I didn't know there were so many of us out there.

We walk back stage after Luizy gives her parting remarks. Once we are in the halls of the Justice Building, Fujitsa crumbles next to me, tears slipping through her fingers as she tries to hide her quiet sobs. I want to do something to help, but I'm selfish. I keep my head held high and keep the emotions at bay. A delicate dance at the masquerade. A wrong step, and everything's lost. Use the wrong fork during dinner, and you're done. Etiquette, mystery, danger, power, greed, lust. Those are the things that make the high society world go round. I have etiquette from years of my parents drilling manners into my head. Mystery, if I keep my mask on. Danger, why, there's always danger in the Games. Power. I have to find some. Greed, greed to stay alive. Lust, lust to be back in Connor's arms. I wonder if this is my punishment. Playing two sides, being a two headed snake, the polite, aristocrat son and the horny, wild party boy.

I walk off to my room, and in moments I have an influx of visitors. The first knot of people that push in are my friends. Sonya's sniffling, Jami's in full fledged sobs, Hayley keeps sighing deeply and rubbing her temples, and Beki just looks at me with his cold, dead stare. We don't say anything, and I don't need them to. I'd rather they didn't say anything. Hayley leans against the door and closes her eyes. Jami sits down on the cold floor. Sonya sits down on the bench next to me and hugs me. Beki just stands in his place with his arms folded, his eyes bleary and blank.

When Connor Ulrich comes in, the four of them hug me and exit quickly. The door clicks closed, and Connor grabs me and pushes me up against the wall. His hands are a tangle in my hair, and I grab his ass and pull him closer to me. Our lips slide across the other's, and I start to gyrate against him. It feels wrong, but I need one more lustful moment with Connor. I flip him around and pin him beneath me against the wall, kissing him greedily.

The door clicks open, and my parents walk in. Before they spot us, I hear my father saying something about,"-irls with other girls, so unnatural." Then my parents look up and see Connor and I frozen in place in horror, tangled in one another, my hands halfway through dragging Connor's pants to the floor.

"Millard Garrick Vaith," my mother whispers. Connor steps away from me and gives me a deep, sad look before walking out. I'd rather spend my last ten minutes with him, going further than we did, but of course I can't leave my parents with that last image of me before I go off to die. Connor is gone, and I can still feel how his hands were inching towards my groin, ready to give me the last lovemaking of my life. My body grows cold without him, and I shiver, hugging myself, as I look up at my parents, still frozen in shock, appalled. I sigh, and sit down on the bench.

"You never loved me, did you?" I murmur after a precious minute has slipped by. I can't help but think of Connor beneath me now, but then I feel the cold, clammy slap of my father's hand across my face and everything else is gone as I stand up, taking a step back.

"How...how could you do this to us," my father says blankly, his mouth curled in disgust. My mother looks like she wants to say something, but she closes her mouth. My mother always knows when to keep her mouth shut. I realize, at that moment, that my father is the only one that savors this life.

"I'm gay," I find myself saying, and I let it all go, and I don't give a fuck. I'm going to die. I don't need to leave them with unanswered questions and the memories of a little boy crouched on a bench, ashamed of being who he is. "I'm gay, and I never told either of you because I knew what you would do. You would look at me like you are now, like there's something wrong with me. You'd try to 'cure' me or some bullshit and then cover up the entire thing. That's not how sexuality works. You can't just give up love and lust and your personal identity. I'm fine with who I am, unlike you two. You both are fake assholes, and you _should_ feel guilty for what you've done to me. I may have had a good material life, but in the terms of emotions and love, you two were the poorest, most neglectful parents ever. Now get out. I don't want to see either of you ever again."

"Mill-" my mother begins, but my father cuts her off.

"Leave the faggot be," my father hisses. "Leave him to the death he deserves."

My father storms out, dragging my mother with him, and I see her eyes filled with tears and guilt and angst and her mouth moves silently, begging for forgiveness, and I almost run out into the hall and hug her and give her the closure she so dearly craves.

Almost.

* * *

 _(Ho!) So show me family_

 _(Hey!) All the blood that I would bleed_

 _(Ho!) I don't know where I belong_

 _(Hey!) I don't know where I went wrong_

 _(Ho!) But I can write a song_

 _(Hey!)_

 _1, 2, 3_

 _I belong with you, you belong with me, you're my sweetheart_

 _I belong with you, you belong with me, you're my sweet_

* * *

 ** _Fuji LaMac, 17_**

 ** _District Three Female_**

Life is a fucking asshole. Everyone's gotta know what I mean.

They didn't let Cartenya come in to the goodbye room. They had to restrain her or something and she's being held in the stocks for a week for brutalizing a Peacekeeper. Father, drunk and giddy with a bottle of rum, only the dregs left, rolled a sobbing Adata into the room in her wheelchair. He's the only one that can take care of her now, and I know it's not going to happen. I don't even want to think of the struggle Adata will have to go through without me. There's little chance I'm coming back. I'm only a couple of months off of 18; Cartenya turns 18 in a matter of days. We were going to go to the Justice Building, the building I'm marching out of right now, in two months to get legally married. I have my ring, my token. We were going to be a family. We would adopt a child and both of us would work at Cartenya's family's shoe shop; we'd hire Adata as our babysitter. It...it would have been my fairytale ending.

The Peacekeepers keep an extra hard grip on me, and they glare venomously my way. They've looked through my files while I was saying my goodbyes, and they saw the black, ugly mars. A dead mother, a crippled sister, a fraud of a father, and then the biggest error, the six months spent in jail with sleazy men and slanderous women because of a stupid mistake. Just because I thought a girl was like me, that a girl wanted me. I thought the gleam in her eyes wasn't friendship, it was lust, it was need, it was love. She was the one before Cartenya, and I kissed her right on the lips. She ran away screaming, calling me a faggot and a whore and a devil and a bitch and any other name she could conjure as she sprinted away. The tears came thick and fast. In the morning, the Peacekeepers were at my door. The girl, Darabelle, was the Mayor of my Precinct. He had sway. Darabelle told him I assaulted her. I was put in jail for six months, cited with sexual assault, when all I had did was try to show Darabelle how much I loved her. My heart thudded to fast around her. I'd just had to get it out. It took me forever to kiss Cartenya, to admit my feelings to her after we met soon after I got out of prison. She was the one who admitted her affections first, even. I was so insecure, I was so broken, and she fixed me. I keep the tears at bay. Oh, Cartenya. I touch the ring on my hand again and sigh as we walk out of the Justice Building. Millard is already waiting on the train platform, his face stony and angry, his cheeks ruddy and hot and his hair a mess. I stand next to him.

The train arrives in a couple of minutes, and Luizy Cathede, our Escort, walks out of the Justice Building along with Three's sole Victor, Takami. Luizy chatters conversationally, and Takami just responds with curt nods or head shakes or the occasional, "Hmm..." They walk over to us, and Luizy gets all excited while Takami just smiles lightly. We all walk together into the train and sit down at a table in the dining cart.

"So," Takami says as Luizy starts to gorge herself on shortbread and Millard and I delicately put a few pieces of food on our plates. Takami doesn't eat anything at all. "What are you guys thinking in terms of alliances and all? Want to talk strategy together?"

"Maybe we can talk for a bit," I murmur. Something seems good about Millard. First off, he's tall and looks decently in shape, and there seems to be a storm brewing behind those eyes. He could be a valuable asset or a loose cannon. I'll have to see.

"Yeah, feel free," Takami replies with a smile. Millard stands up and reaches out a hand to help me to my feet. Both of our hands are cold, and neither of us smile. We walk out of the dining car, leaving Luizy to her incessant chatter and Takami to his listening. We find a comfortable car, smaller than some of the others, with plush couches and low lighting and the air conditioner pumping in a little extra cool. I hug my knees to my chest and sit down on a puffy red velvet chair and let out a rattling breath as Millard crouches on a couch before repositioning himself. He lays down and looks at the ceiling.

"Who's the rock from? Is he hot?" Millard asks quietly.

"She's a badass bitch," I snarl, and Millard looks at me, startled. I make my way to stand up. He seemed strong, able, smart. He still is. But I'm not dealing with any homophobes. Hell no. Anger makes my cheeks red, and as I stand to leave and tell Takami I'd like a private strategy session with him, Millard stands quickly and grabs my wrist. I jerk my arm out of his grasp, narrowing my eyes at him. "What's your problem?!"

"I have a boyfriend," Millard mumbles quickly. We look at each other, and I sit back down on the couch slowly. I look at my lap and hug myself. The only person that I've ever met that's also homosexual is Cartenya. I feel strangely curious.

"What's he like?" I inquire, looking up into Millard's eyes. He sighs and examines his hands for a moment before answering. His voice catches in his throat, and he sits there for a moment, trying to make sound come out. He then clears his throat.

"He's strong and kind and sort of a normal guy. His name is Connor. We fight all the time, but then there's those nights where everything just mends itself spectacularly and you have no idea how. Ya know? And he's hella good at lovemaking. How's yours?"

"Her name is Cartenya. She's beautiful and bubbly and she can look at an ink splotch on a piece of paper and tell you someone's life story by looking at the curved lines of its edges. Her mind is so complex that I'll never be able to stop exploring it until I'm dead, and I can keep sorting through her head, learning new things, for as long as the universe is wide. I love her so bad, and she loves me so much. She proposed a few months back, and we were going to get married in two months. And she's soooo good at the deed, it's crazy. How does your family feel about it? Just wondering, you don't have to answer. I've just never talked to anyone else...like me...besides Cartenya, you know? I'm just curious."

"Well, my family just found out today. They hate homosexuals." His laugh is hollow, a garble of shattered glass and sticky tape trying to mend itself back together. I give him a sympathetic smile and come over and sit down next to him on the couch.

"Only my sister Adata knows. And Cartenya, of course. I don't really know anyone else besides my dad and Cartenya, though, so it's not that big of an accomplishment. I just...you don't want to lose people just because you're 'different'."

"I already lost my parents a long time ago," he murmurs. Didn't he say he told them today, though, that he was gay? His eyes are stormy and his mouth twitches in a frown, so I leave him be, let his secrets, his pain, sit. I'm just a stranger. I have no right to pry.

"I think it might work if we work together," I say simply. He nods.

"We'll need a couple others, too," he replies. "Let's go watch the tapes and scope out possible candidates."

"Hopefully there's some others that are good," I mumble as we stand to go ask Takami for the Reaping tapes or where we can watch them or whatever. I smile as Millard walks in front of me. While I might not find my happy ending, I found someone like me. I think I might find out things about myself. While that will be at the expense of my own life, isn't the point of living to discover who you are? No matter how much I'd like to go back to Cartenya and grow old with her, I know the probability of that happening is astronomically low. I'm smart and motivated but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters, really. The odds are never in anyone's favor no matter what anyone tries to tell you. While I'm living, though, I'm going to find out who I am. While I'm still walking this earth, I will pull back the layers of myself. I will lose everything I hold dear. I'll lose Cartenya, I'll lose Adata, I'll lose father; I still love him even though he's loathsome at times. I'll lose everything I've ever had, and maybe then I can be reborn, and maybe then I can tear off the guilt that weighs me down and move on, even if moving on means death.

* * *

 **A/N: Ick a longer update time again. I know I'm still moving fast compared to a lot of SYOTs but I'm planning on moving faster in the coming weeks hopefully. With winter break I'll definitely be able to write more. I also did spend all my writing time this week on that BB:Bite Size Episode 1 chapter that was like wayyy too long, so...XD**

 **It was actually really cool to write two homosexual people meeting other homosexual people besides their lovers and in Millard's case his one friend Beki. I don't know why, but it just really intrigued me to write it. Hope it was worthwhile :)**

 **Who do you like better here, Millard or Fuji? Have your thoughts on them changed?**

 **Millard (1 pt): What is Millard's middle name?**

 **Fuji (1 pt): What did Fuji say Cartenya can look at and make an entire story from?**

 **I'll be getting a sponsorship rules thing out to you guys soon hopefully. Have a good rest of your weekend!**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	23. Interlude: An Avox

**A/N: A quick interlude. There will be four of these. One will introduce the Head Gamemaker Ludum Factorem, a second the interviewer Fabula Obcubo, and the third will check in on the Presidential family. Here, though, we have an old, sly friend from Oceanside. Enjoy.**

* * *

 _Did you forget me?_

 _Did you forget me?_

 _I wish I could say that I never left_

 _But sorry just sounds stupid and quiet_

 _In this house_

 _Did you forget me?_

 _Did you forget me?_

 _Did you forget me?_

 _And the letters don't talk_

 _And my crying's too loud_

 _Paper's no palm_

 _And I wonder where yours are at_

 _Paper's no palm_

 _And I bet you'd laugh at that_

 _Please forget me_

 _Please forget me_

 _Forget me_

* * *

 ** _Bethany Taylor, 28_**

 ** _Resident of District 2_**

 ** _District Seven Female of the 10th Annual Hunger Games and Avox to Serephina Manchas_**

It's Reaping Day, and the Victor's Village of Two is abuzz. I hurry to get ready, launching myself out of my bed. I jog into the bathroom and picking up my toothbrush. The Manchas-Anniston's are nice enough to give me room and board. I sleep in one of the smaller bedrooms in their Victor's Village home and they provide me with the basics of life: food, water, clothing, and toiletries. They're kinder than I could have ever believed. In the arena, I would stare at the starry night skies and pray that Serephina's face and Cephas's face and all the other faces of those proto Careers would show up. I would squeeze Chen's hand and laugh with Andi and smile at Holly as I always placed my bets on the dead of the day being the Careers. I thought they were wicked monsters, despicable beasts just waiting to slaughter all of us. They were, really, in that arena. But outside of the arena, I see past the bloodthristy monster named Serephina Manchas-Anniston who killed Andi and watched Chen and Holly die. I see past the woman who stands on stages in the Capitol with a cold, brutal grin and the woman who beats disrespectful cadets in her office in the Academy. I see a woman in stained sweats and a frayed sweatshirt holding her little kids and laughing. Her face might be sterile and frozen in public, but in her house there's always a small smile on her face. Every morning she conceals her laugh lines with thick makeup and I'll never understand why. Serephina confuses me. She has for the past dozen years that I've worked for her, and I doubt I'll ever really understand the Headmistress to a full extent or her motives.

I've been standing in front of the mirror for ten minutes with the toothbrush hanging out of the corner of my mouth, watery toothpaste dribbling down my chin. I turn the knob on the sink and water flushes forward. I rinse off the toothbrush and set it down, and then I open up my mouth and let the toothpaste drip out of my mouth. Without a tongue, it's rather hard to spit things out. The tiny, scarred nub of muscle in the back of my throat works itself around like it always does, but it does nothing to help. Finally I take the water glass, fill it up, and swish it around my mouth by shaking my head back and forth. Then I let the water dribble out of my mouth. I never realized how strenuous life was for someone lacking a tongue until my own tongue was sliced out by Aenea Chariton's minions. I felt sickly happy when Aenea turned up, murdered by an ex lover, soon after the 14th Games. She did this to me. I would probably be dead if she hadn't taken me out to interrogate me about the wanderers (who, as far as I knew, were all either gone or dead by now). But still. It was easy to blame her for my problems, and I did so.

I walk out of my smallish room and down the stairs. Serephina's just left for the Reaping, so it's just Roman and the four kids left. Roman has all the kids awake, and he smiles at me from the kitchen, waving me over. The three older kids, named Garry, Kate, and Clarissa, sat in chairs at the granite kitchen island, while Roman had the youngest, little Gaius, in his arms. Roman had gotten some of the breakfast stuff out but I take over. Roman straps Gaius into his high chair as I turn on the high tech, flameless stove and put the black iron pan on it. I make a whole pan of scrambled eggs and divvy it out between the family, and then I pop a piece of wheat bread and make myself a bland piece of toast. Once we've all eaten, the kids clamor to go into the living room and watch the Reaping Recaps, which should be airing any minute now. I already know who's in it for Two; Serephina has been talking about Ardin Varnell and Tyberios Palatium for days. I still follow them into the living room. I may despise the Games, but I've become interested in them. I've found myself recently rooting for the Two kids instead of the Seven ones.

I've changed, like it or not. I'm not that girl I was in the arena, relentlessly optimistic about our chances and head over heels in love with Chen Evoncurst. Chen. It took too little time for me to get over him. Sure, I cared for him. But I was a fool, a young girl trying to scrabble and find passion and love in a world without any of that. I won't say everything was fake; we thought it was real, so I guess that means it _was_ real. But I'm not sitting here, twelve years in the future, with my mortal heart trembling for Chen still. I'll probably never have a romantic relationship ever again since it's pretty obvious I'm not supposed to leave the boundaries of the Victor's Village of Two and no Victor is going to go for me. I came to terms with that, to terms with who and what I am now, a long time ago. I'm comfortable in my new skin. I'm not vulnerable and naive and insecure any longer. My tongue's been gone for twelve years; the most sound I've made in that time is a few dry gasps whenever I laugh or try to talk out of reflex. It feels weird to know I'll never her my voice again.

I sit on the couch and good distance from Roman and his children, bowing my head respectfully. The Manchas-Anniston's are lax with me for sure, but respect and honor are the core that makes up this family. I know my place. I know I should feel resentment or something like that, but I don't. This is my life now, and I've accepted that. I stare at the screen and watch as the tributes trickle by, not really seeing them. I'm seeing the tributes from my Games, I'm seeing the beaches and the jungles and the bloodthristy kids and the slain bodies and the spraying blood and the glittering green serpent and I start shutting down. I manage to run into the pantry and calm myself down enough to come back out. I may have gotten out of the arena before the Top 8, but I still have nightmares. Andi's screams will haunt me to the day I die. I just think of the trees of Seven, about Mom and Dad and the Krensons trekking through woods far away from here, safe from the Capitol, remembering their brave daughter Bethany and telling tall tales about her to the others at their wanderer camp. I didn't know much. All I told them was what the wanderers were, a group of people who just wanted to live their own lives outside of Panem's control, and that they were in the north. They tortured me for days and ran multiple lie tests and realized that I was telling the truth. I had nothing left to give. They threw me to the side, and then I found myself employed to help the stage crew set up, and underneath the stage I met lucky Victor Serephina Manchas waiting to rise up onto the stage to meet her adoring people. She recognized me, and out of some strange act of sympathy she took me back to Two and I've lived here ever since. Serephina rarely talks about the Games with me, but there are nights when I'll come down to get the house set up early and I'll see her sitting on the porch with a mug of earl grey tea. That's my signal to sit beside her and listen to her whisper about her Games. Those encounters only last a couple of minutes, and then I'm sweeping the front entrance and she's waking up her kids, but I cherish those moments. Serephina and I are the only people who can truly understand each other's fears. I just wish I could truly talk to her on those mornings, communicate my thoughts, and tell her that I've forgiven her for all she's done.

I step out of the pantry and head into the kitchen, where I start scrubbing the skillet I used to make breakfast. Roman's already taken the kids into the backyard to play with them on the big playground Serephina and Roman built for their kids by hand. I helped out a bit. I smile sadly. I've become interwoven with this family, like it or not. This is my life now. I'm strangely content with it.

* * *

 **A/N: Bethany Taylor has made another appearance! I hope you like her development, those of you who read Oceanside. Sorry those of you who don't know her character. Basically her family was planning on leaving the District, and then she was Reaped. The Head Gamemaker that year, Aenea Chariton, realized that Bethany was a rebel during the Pre-Games, but by that point Bethany's relationship with her District Partner Chen had begun to develop, and Aenea couldn't bear to kill her off early so she hid the fact that Bethany knew about these rebellious wanderers from Snow. In the Top 10, Bethany revealed to Chen her rebel secret, and Snow raged and almost killed Aenea and tasked her with having Bethany give up the information. To do this, Aenea took her out of the arena via a huge machine that was disguised like a monsterous serpent. She was then given the choice of death if she did not give up her info on the wanderers, or she would be Avoxed if she did give up the info. Bethany did give up the info, and the rest happened. Her parents are still alive and well with the wanderers, having evaded Peacekeepers, and her two younger sisters, Yetta and Panema, now adopted by a happy younger couple, are growing up well. A bittersweet story so far for our friend, Ms. Taylor.**

 **Some of you were wondering what the trivia was for. All your trivia points along with 1 point per review will give you points for the sponsor system, so if you want to give lots of sponsor gifts you might want to do the trivia :)**

 **Bethany (1 pt.): What type of tea does Serephina drink when she wants to talk about their Games?**

 **I hope you enjoyed this interlude! Sorry this was posted soooo late, very early in the morning, but I just wanted to get it out. :)**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	24. Sponsorship with Marionette Brocklinde

**A/N: This isn't an interlude. This has no substance; this is just the sponsorship info! XD I'm halfway through writing the District Four post-Reapings but I finally decided on how to do this sponsor system, so here it is. There's a little bit of story worked in 'cause, well, this is a story, and it needs some actual writing xD**

* * *

 _Lights_

 _Camera_

 _Struck a pose_

 _And if someone help you_

 _Put lipstick on_

 _Yeah_

 _High heels now you're_

 _Six feet tall_

 _And everybody knows_

 _Who you are_

* * *

 ** _Marionette Brocklinde, 24_**

 ** _Capitol Resident_**

 ** _Model and Avid Hunger Games Fanatic and Sponsor_**

Soon the Twenty Second Games will begin, and I can't sleep. The tributes have been Reaped and are on trains at this very moment, swiftly chugging down the railroads and heading towards the Capitol. I have front row VIP seats for the Parade and the Interviews and I've been trying to get my step brother Darion to let me sit in on the Private Sessions. I love to gamble; it's my addiction, my one and only. Alcohol and drugs just don't sit well with me, and sex...I've just never felt comfortable about it. I don't exactly think I'm asexual, it's just that I don't really have a need for it.

Leaving the casino two hundred richer (did I mention I'm also a great gambler?) in my high heels and newest addition Cravat Lumbroux cocktail dress (did I mention I'm also a great model?), I head over to the Tribute Center. Before the tributes get here in a couple of hours, it's open to the public like it is all year round. The Tribute Hotel floors are closed off since Avoxes are preparing them for use at the moment, but the training room is open. In the training room, my usual Hunger Games betting crowd is waiting. As I push through the doors into the training center, I see that I'm the last to arrive.

"Marionette, come on over! We're wasting away our time with solitaire waiting for you!" Adoria Chalice hollers. She and our two other betting buddies, Aurorius Kaimis and Angelico Baublyn, are sitting in the Gamemakers' Loft with a deck of cards. I walk quickly across the training room, admiring all the stations, like exhibits in a museum right now, around me. I go up the stairs set into the wall that lead up to the Loft. They're usually obstructed by a curtain that blends into the wall. I sit down with my three friends, and Aurorius hands me a pamphlet.

"The new sponsorship rules. They told me 1 point equals one hundred in currency," he booms. I open up the pamphlet and read its contents carefully.

 _SPONSORSHIP FOR THE TWENTY SECOND ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES_

 _FOOD:_

 _Sleeve of crackers - 1 point_

 _Cookie - 1 point_

 _Apple - 2 points_

 _Pack of beef jerky - 2 points_

 _Bread from District of your choice - 3 points_

 _Bowl of soup - 4 points_

 _Full Meal - 5 points_

 _Random food item - 1-5 points, depending on what it is. (Bring to Gamemaker Center. They will assess it and if they approve it, it will go into the Games)_

 _WATER:_

 _6 oz. full water bottle - 2 points_

 _10 oz. full water bottle - 3 points_

 _14 oz. full water bottle - 4 points_

 _20 oz. full water bottle - 5 points_

 _24 oz. full water bottle - 6 points_

 _Small empty water bottle (8 oz.) - 1 point_

 _Medium empty water bottle (16 oz.) - 2 points_

 _Large empty water bottle (24 oz.) - 3 points_

 _1 iodine tablet (each tablet can clean up to 24 oz. of water) - 3 points_

 _4 iodine tablets - 7 points_

 _8 iodine tablets - 12 points_

 _SHELTER:_

 _Sleeping bag - 4 points_

 _Small tent (barely fit one person) - 8 points_

 _Medium tent (2 people) - 14 points_

 _Large tent (3-5 people) - 25 points_

 _EXTRA CLOTHING:_

 _Shirt - 2 points_

 _Hoodie - 3 points_

 _Jacket - 3 points_

 _Socks - 1 point_

 _Shorts - 2 points_

 _Jeans - 2 points_

 _Athletic long pants - 2 points_

 _Underwear - 1 point_

 _Gloves - 1 point_

 _Hat - 1 point_

 _Scarf - 1 point_

 _Accessories such as rings and earrings (seek listing with Gamemakers) - 1 point_

 _Tennis shoes - 4 points_

 _Boots - 5 points_

 _Full new outfit - 40 points_

 _Shin guard - 4 points_

 _2 shin guards - 8 points_

 _Chest plate - 12 points_

 _Arm guard - 3 points_

 _2 arm guards - 7 points_

 _Back plate - 12 points_

 _Helmet - 8 points_

 _Full body armor set - 40 points_

 _WEAPONS:_

 _1 throwing knife - 8 points_

 _2 throwing knives - 16 points_

 _4 throwing knives - 32 points_

 _8 throwing knives - 64 points_

 _Small dagger - 8 points_

 _Big dagger - 14 points_

 _Machete - 50 points_

 _Longsword - 55 points_

 _Broadsword - 55 points_

 _Spear - 50 points_

 _Trident - 65 points_

 _Harpoon Gun with 4 harpoons - 80 points_

 _4 harpoon refill - 35 points_

 _Awl - 5 points_

 _Mace - 40 points_

 _Whip - 40 points_

 _Flail - 45 points_

 _Crossbow with 8 bolts - 80 points_

 _Refill of 8 bolts - 30 points_

 _Bow and arrow with 8 arrows - 75 points_

 _Refill of 8 arrows - 25 points_

 _Scythe - 40 points_

 _Sickle - 30 points_

 _Butcher's knife - 25 points_

 _Dart gun with 12 darts - 25 points_

 _12 dart refill - 10 points_

 _Bottle of poison - 35 points_

 _Bolas - 20 points_

 _Axe - 45 points_

 _Hatchet - 42 points_

 _Bear trap - 65 points_

 _Cutlass - 50 points_

 _Pair of rondelles - 20 points_

 _6 throwing stars - 22 points_

 _Nunchucks - 30 points_

 _Shield - 30 points_

 _Brass knuckles - 10 points_

 _Chainsaw - 95 points_

 _Flamethrower - 100 points_

 _Grenade - 110 points_

 _Halberd - 70 points_

 _MEDICINAL:_

 _Roll of bandages - 7 points_

 _Bottle of antiseptic - 15 points_

 _Small band aid - 2 points_

 _Medium band aid - 4 points_

 _Large band aid - 6 points_

 _Needle and Thread for Stitches - 10 points_

 _First aid kit (all of the above) - 40 points_

 _Arm sling - 15 points_

 _Crutches - 45 points_

 _Wheelchair - 80 points_

 _Various medicines (see Gamemakers for full selection) - 1-200 points_

 _MISCELLANEOUS:_

 _Coil of rope - 1 point_

 _Box of matches - 2 points_

 _Tarp - 1 point_

 _Night vision goggles - 3 points_

 _Blanket - 2 points_

 _Paper and pencil - 2 points_

 _Handheld heater - 5 points_

 _Handheld cooler - 5 points_

 _Flashlight - 2 points_

 _Flare - 3 points_

 _Random, Useless Miscellaneous Objects such as pillows or stuffed animals - 1 point (bring accessory to Gamemaking Center. If Gamemakers approve it, it may be sent in for 1 point)_

 _Empty Backpack - 2 points_

 _Full Backpack (filled with 6 random items, aka 2 random miscellaneous, 1 random clothing, 1 random food, 1 random water, and 1 random small weapon) - 14 points_

 _NOTES:_

 _Locks will be placed on tributes if they receive too many sponsor gifts that will give them a very unfair advantage (AKA one tribute getting a dozen weapons and no one else getting anything). This rarely happens._

 _You can only send gifts listed here excepting the various food/accessory option, and those have to be approved. No clothing or weapons or water or shelter not listed here will be approved._

 _IMPORTANT: Each day, the cost of every item will increase by two points. If a Games were to last 12 days, a 3 point flare would cost 27 points on the last day of the Games._

 _Enjoy sponsoring loyal Capitol citizen, and Happy Hunger Games!_

* * *

 **A/N: I hope that was self explanatory! :) I was going to wait until the end of the post-Reaping chapters to post this, and I'll probably move this chapter after we've finished the whole story so the chapters seem to flow more, but for now here it is. I just wanted you guys to have this so you have an idea of what everything will cost, and so you can decide if you want to do trivia or not based on what is here.**

 **So at first I was going to calculate your points for you. Then I started on it, and I spent a half hour on it and I'd only gotten through like 50 reviews. I don't know why, I was just really being slow at it. I'm sorry, but it would be a huge help if you guys could do it yourselves. And, anyway, those of you who calculate it themselves will be the ones that will actually be reading in the Games and be sending gifts anyway. Sorry, I just honestly didn't want to sit at my computer for an hour and a half calculating points and wasting precious writing time.**

 **Just add up 1 point per review and 1 point per correct trivia answer and either put the total on your review or PM it to me. I'll keep a running total after that myself. Please be honest about your points.**

 **Here are the trivia answers so far:**

 **Who placed second in 21st Games - Bastian Semptus, 2M**

 **Why was Fulmia refused - So what I was trying to hint to in the POV was that she was a rebel, because I sort of just added that, sorry Nemris xD But no one got that I guess, I guess I was too sneaky with my secret message, so I'll give it to anyone that said she was unpredictable, etc. because that is also true.**

 **Ardin's generic angle - The Swan**

 **Millard's middle name - Garrick**

 **Cartenya could - she could tell you a story from looking at an ink splotch**

 **What tea - Earl grey tea**

 **Until Next Time (probably tomorrow with District Four, if not tonight xD),**

 **Tracee**


	25. Goodbyes and Trains: Four

**A/N: We have District Four here, and we're revisiting Cordelia Nile and Chavez Belasco! Enjoy! :D**

 **Trigger Warning: Profanity**

* * *

 _She's up against them all_

 _But the writing is on the wall_

 _It's more than meets the eye with her_

 _There's nothing I can do_

 _I'm left without a clue_

 _She sees it all in black and white…or blue_

 _She's got a rebel heart, on that she's gonna find_

 _She's got a rebel heart, she's up against them all_

 _No she never will admit, that what she wants she never gets_

 _She never knows just when to quit_

* * *

 ** _Cordelia Nile, 17_**

 ** _District Four Female_**

"Cordelia Nile!" Tytan screams.

Stunned, I walk out of the seventeen year old pen and walk quickly onto the stage. It's okay Cordelia, stop breathing heavy, why are your cheeks so hot? The female volunteer is going to come up and save you; not save you, no, you were never in danger, she was always going to save you. I clasp my hands together in front of me, wringing them together, nervous despite myself. Carolina Martinez will volunteer for you.

"Any volunteers?" Tytan asks.

There's suddenly a loud groan of pain from the eighteen year old section, and I watch in horror as Carolina gasps, her face flushed with heat. She thrashes on the ground and seems to be having a panic attack of sorts; it almost looks like she's choking. She sputters and passes out, and Peacekeepers quickly retrieve her and carry her out of the square. It takes a moment for it to sink in.

Carolina Martinez isn't saving me.

I try not to shake, but I do shake, I'm shaking like mad. My hands, my legs, my everything. I feel so small. I'm barely five feet, of course, but it's not just the height of everyone. As Chavez Belasco and Julian Almieda scrabble over who will be the volunteer, I feel like I'm shrinking. I'm so small. I'm already dead, aren't I? Chavez leaps confidently onto the stage and I sigh. I'd rather it be Julian. I don't know either of them well, but Julian's apparently the less...harassing...one of the duo. I look up at Chavez, trying to steel myself as he shakes my hand too roughly.

Cordelia Annette fucking Nile, why are you freaking out so much? Sure, you might not train in the Academy, but Dad's put you through the ringer for more than ten years in the garage. He might not be a Capitol born and trained trainer, but he sure as hell taught me how to protect myself. I know how to do this; I can survive against the odds. I can wield knives and a trident fairly well and I know some survival skills, and hell, I know my poisons like the back of my hand. I will be fine. I will be fine. I tell myself that over and over and over as I walk into the Justice Building with a smug Chavez and a tittering Tytan.

I quickly break off with two Peacekeepers, one on either side, and they lead me to a small side room. I step inside, and a minute later my friends and family all pour in at once. Dylan and Rosemary are crying quietly and clinging to our mother, and my father stands behind all of them, his face dark, his mouth curled into an angry scowl. Kailani is weeping loudly into her boyfriend Jordan's shoulder; he smiles sadly at me. And Beck grabs me with his muscly arms and kisses me hard on the lips through his tears before passing me off to my family. They all squeeze me, and I suck in a rattling breath after I've hugged Kailani and a reluctant Jordan. I stand before them all and let another breath out slowly, calming myself.

"I'm trained," I murmur. "I'm trained, guys. I'll be okay. I will come home."

Kailani and Jordan are the first to leave.

"Cordelia, I love you. You're my best friend. I know you'll come back!" Kailani squeals and then squeezes me. She and her boyfriend depart.

Beck smashes me in another crushing hug before wistfully departing.

"You're the love of my life, Cordelia Annette Nile," Beck coos. "You will come back to me. I know it." Then he kisses me tenderly, hugs me again, and then leaves me standing there, cold and feeling empty without him there.

My entire family embraces me in a group hug for a good amount of time after he leaves, filling up my heart again with love. I hug them all, ruffling Dylan's hair and kissing Rosemary's tear stained cheek. It hurts to see them hurting because of me. When we part, my father smiles sadly.

"I'd like to talk to Cordelia privately for a moment," he whispers, keeping his eyes on the floor. The other members of my immediate family oblige. I hug them all one more time and then my siblings and mother are gone. My father sits down on the little wooden bench by the window in the room and puts his head in his hands. He starts to sob uncontrollably and I sit down next to him, clinging to him and letting a few tears of my own drip out.

"It's all my fault," my father murmurs.

"No it isn't Dad, you trained me the best you could," I reply, squeezing his shoulder.

"No, not that Cordelia. There's something your mother and I never told you. We...well, during the Dark Days-"

The door flies open, and a Peacekeeper steps in. "Your time is up."

"One moment sir, I need to tell my daughter one thing privately," my dad mutters, flustered and worried looking.

"Your time is up," the Peacekeeper growls.

"Dad, just go. It's alright." My dad squeezes my hand.

"No. I need to tell you this first."

The Peacekeeper strides over in three huge strides and grabs my father by the shoulders. He tries to punch the Peacekeeper, and I shriek as the Peacekeeper pulls out his baton and thwacks my father upside the head with it. My dad slumps, unconscious, and the Peacekeeper grabs me roughly and pulls me out of the room. I'm too stunned to retaliate, and before I know it I'm at the train platform with Chavez smirking next to me, trying to process what's just happened. I put on a good face and steel myself. I'm a good actress; if I lived in the Capitol I'd want to be one. I can take this. As I walk onto the train, however, one nagging question will not, cannot leave me alone.

What did my father want to tell me? I'm afraid I'll never know.

* * *

 _I'm like damn hey,_

 _What's your name, girl,_

 _How you doing - okay,_

 _Yeah I got my own place,_

 _You can move and 2 step with me girl,_

 _Keep doing what you're doing (shit),_

 _I'm going back home in the same car as you in,_

 _She came with her homegirls,_

 _I came with the homies,_

 _I ain't tell her my name,_

 _Cause' she already know me_

* * *

 ** _Chavez Belasco, 18_**

 ** _District Four Male_**

Walking through the halls, the Peacekeepers flank me, one on each side, like wingmen. I stride forward confidently, grinning brightly at the linoleum floors and florescent light strips buzzing in the ceilings. My back is straight and I ignore the aches from where Almieda kicked and scratched at me. I feel powerful, and my body is sizzling with heat. A dozen girls and guys came in to pay their respects, all smiling bashfully as I kissed and teased them. Then Almieda, grumpy, congratulated me, and my new ex-girlfriend Brielle strode in, angry as hell. She slapped me and then kissed me, typical heart broken girl style. I'd just broken it off yesterday; even I'm not mean enough to leave a girl in love when I head off to slaughter kids in the Games. Then my family came in, my older brothers begrudgingly congratulating me and not looking me in the eyes, my father crushing me in a hug, and my mother standing in the wings and smiling and staying out of the way like she's supposed to do. Then they were gone, and I had a moment to myself to revel in the glory and adrenaline still flooding my veins before the Peacekeeper opened the door and beckoned for me to follow him. Now here I am, walking proudly and confidently, to the train platform.

I get there before the Reaped girl, Cordelia. I cannot believe Carolina had a panic attack. She was a strong ass woman; she could take care of herself. But she was also a hopeless romantic, and I knew I would've been able to ensnare her and beat her no matter what happened. Hearts and love are fickle, and sadly for all the other tributes, I am the king of hearts, and I will outplay them all.

Cordelia appears a minute or so later, looking distressed and confused and a little angry. She's short as hell, so short she looks like she's younger than she is, but she's wiry and agile looking. Maybe she'll last past the Bloodbath. Maybe I'll cut her down in a glorious spray of gore. We'll see.

The two of us walk into the dining car and sit down across from Mags and Oisin. Oisin looks grumpy as ever, and he eats his hors d'oeuvres quietly, stabbing them with too much force. Mags has a bright smile on and her frizzy hair is styled well. She's pretty, but her eyes are steely and cold and her hands curl into fists when she meets me. I see that my reputation precedes me.

I take a plate and pick up a few deviled eggs and eat them carefully. Tytan joins us at the table, and we all sit there in silence. Oisin and Tytan eat, ignoring us, Cordelia inspects the food and plucks out an eclair and eats it in one bite, and Mags drums her long, glossy talons against the mahogany and stares me down, and not in a sexy or awe-filled way. Her eyes are dead and angry, and she glares at me out of the corner of her eye once more before turning to the hors d'oeuvres and picking out a few for herself. The silence stretches for another half a minute, and I just can't stand it any more.

"So, what the hell with Carolina not volunteering, right? You pretty girls must've had a heart attack," I say brightly. Mags glowers at me, Tytan looks up at me and focuses on me intently, cocking his head, Cordelia looks at me suspiciously, and Oisin ignores me, eating his appetizers quietly.

"She had a panic attack. I told the Academy Council that she was going to have one before or during the Games; it's just the condition she has," Mags replies coldly, spearing a deviled egg with vigor and grinding it to a slurry in her mouth.

"Well, didn't end well for you untrained lass, did it?" I inquire, turning to Cordelia.

"Well, you can fucking shove those words up your ass," Cordelia says sweetly, cocking her head and beaming like a sweet little angel. I scowl. "I'm no common bitch that's going to be womanized by your silly pretty boy face and your words. And I'm trained, you motherfucker. Not everyone goes to the Academy." Cordelia stands, setting down her napkin and grinning at the rest of our crew, then glaring daggers at me. She walks off to her room, and Avox leading her, and silence hangs over the table for a minute before Oisin O'Cobb decides to speak up.

"Well, I like her," he mumbles through a mouthful of cheese and crackers, and I just glower at the table. That girl's going to pay dearly. I'm definitely killing her in the Bloodbath. Just a little mistake, oops, the arrow was meant to hit the little girl, not Cordelia! Gasp! I'm so sorry! The Careers will buy the act and the bitch will be dead and I'll have eliminated a pain in the side. I eat some more food and then leave the table myself. Mags is solely here to help Cordelia; I can't trust her. Tytan is a bumbling buffoon, and Oisin would rather help Cordelia and doesn't want anything with me. I can take care of myself.

I walk out of the dining car and back, farther and farther, speeding up until I'm crashing through each car at top speed. Finally I reach the last car. It's curved at the back, with panoramic windows showing the frothing ocean of Four swirling past as we zoom past the water. The windows meet at a small door, and I crack it open, stepping out onto the little ledge on the back of the car. I shut the door behind me and lean on the railing that encloses the little ledge, ensuring I will not fall off. The train's going lightning fast, and the winds off of the sea are like whips crackling against my skin. My hair flies around like crazy and the salt smell of the ocean fills my nostrils and I grin, relaxing, letting myself be battered by the wind.

No one has my back in these Games so far. That just means there's less of a chance someone will stab me there.

* * *

 **A/N: Hello! Yeah this was a SUPER quick update, but I was already half finished with this when I posted the sponsorship stuff so I just had to write Chavez's POV and polish it all off, and then it was ready for posting.**

 **These two were fun to write, and I feel like while I started developing both of them, I really fleshed Cordelia out more this chapter. I just feel like I got a better feel for her character, and hopefully her POV was better than her first, which I felt was a little flat.**

 **Who do you like better here, Cordelia or Chavez? Have your thoughts on them changed? Also, a new question! What do you think Cordelia's father was going to tell her in goodbyes before their session ended? Just a hint, this will deal with a subplot in this story sorta similar to one in Oceanside. ;)**

 **Cordelia (1 pt.): What was the name of the girl that was supposed to volunteer?**

 **Chavez (1 pt.): What did Chavez say he was in relation to love? (Hint, 2nd paragraph :)**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	26. Goodbyes and Trains: Five

**A/N: We have District Five here today with Jayce Newman and Bernie Areli! Enjoy!**

 **Trigger Warnings: none I think? XD Hooray!**

* * *

 _I am not a man_

 _I feel more like_

 _emptiness, solitude_

 _I am not a man_

 _I feel more like_

 _chemicals coming through_

 _Why are you whispering so politely_

 _when all around me the house is falling down?_

 _the house is falling down_

* * *

 ** _Jayce Newman, 17_**

 ** _District Five Male_**

Delilah and I walk towards the pens together, hand in hand. I stayed out late last night with her, and we slept in an abandoned lot and stared at the stars. She asked me when I was going to tell my parents about _it._ I didn't respond and pretended I was asleep. I've just had a bad feeling for a while now about this Reaping. I think it's probably just the illness taking its toll. I feel a little weaker every day, a little slower, a little less alive. It feels so cliche, but it seems like the world around me's speeding up and I'm slowing down. I'm dying and there's nothing I can do but have fun until the last moment comes.

Delilah and I break, and the next moments blur together for some reason. A prick of my finger, walking to my pen, escort and mayor coming onto the stage and speaking, a crying little girl, and then, "JAYCE NEWMAN!"

Something lifts off of my shoulders; I have no idea why. As I step onto the stage however, a small smile squirms its way onto my face. I feel a little lighter, and the fear and dread pumping through my body makes me feel a little more in tune with everything around me. Delilah stands in her pen, frozen in shock, and my mother cries into my father's shoulder far off in the distance at the edge of the square with the other parents. The smile slips off of my face, but the damage has already been done; everyone, the thousands of members of my District, are looking at me with different mixtures of distaste, confusion, and contempt. My heart sours and everything feels cold and blank, and I realize I've completed one of my bucket list items.

 _Feel the truest fear imaginable. Check._

We walk back stage, and Peacekeepers grab me roughly and tear me away from our Escort Ambrosia Heavenfall and the weeping little girl whose name I didn't catch when she was Reaped. She doesn't look a day over 11 or 12. She goes down a different hall than I do with her own duo of Peacekeepers. One of the Peacekeepers opens a seemingly random door and the two of them shove me inside. The door clicks closed smoothly behind me.

There's a bench and a tiny circular window, dirty with dust and grime accumulated over years without cleaning. Murky light streams through the tiny window. I collapse on the bench and hold my head in my hands, sighing. I feel tired. I want to sleep. The door opens, smacking against the wall, and there's thin, supple arms around me and Delilah is lifting me to my feet, sobbing like crazy.

"Jay-jayce!" she whimpers. "We have a month left, I thought! I needed that month, Jayce!"

"What are you two talking about?" my father inquires from the door way, my sniffling mother behind him. He looks curious and a little suspicious, and he treads in carefully, standing near us, my mother still clinging to him. She's glaring at Delilah; she thinks Delilah's the person who's started this whole change in me. If anything, I was the one who changed Delilah, and I feel sort of guilty about it.

"Nothing. She's sort of hysteric," I murmur back, pressing my girlfriend's face into my chest and letting her cry. I smooth out her hair and kiss her cheek and then she backs away, wiping away her tears and trying to calm herself down. She stands in the corner, quivering, trying to regain control, as my parents rush to my side to comfort me and talk to me. I bite my lip.

My mom starts weeping again, and she clings to me like there's no tomorrow, squeezing me so tight I can barely breathe. I instinctively shove her off of me and gasp in a breath. She looks wounded and hurt, and my father backs away.

"Jayce, what is going on?!" my father booms. My mother wraps herself in his arms, looking at me like I'm some gangster with a bright pink afro and golden teeth masquerading as her son. I shiver as her eyes cut down to my soul.

"I-I..." I can't tell them. I just can't. The veiled truth comes too easy. "I'm just a mess. I'm going to die."

"No you aren't. You're going to come back to us," my mother whispers without conviction, hugging me again, not as tight this time. My father hugs me as well, and then they leave me to have my last couple of minutes with Delilah. She looks a little miffed as she strides over and stands in front of me, arms folded across her chest, her beautiful chestnut colored eyes narrowed as she glares at me, tear trails still glistening on her cheeks.

"You didn't tell them about you disease," Delilah whispers.

"I don't have to. I'm going to die either way," I growl, looking at my feet.

"They're going to want an explanation for why you've been acting out, Jayce."

"That explanation is you, and if you try to tell them the truth, they won't believe you, Delilah."

Delilah looks at me, half shocked, half bothered. She walks towards the door without a goodbye kiss or embrace, her cheeks burning red with fury.

"You should have told them forever ago, Jayce. Maybe this all wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been so careless and tarnished my childhood."

"Don't get started with your karma crap-" I begin, but Delilah's already gone, slamming the door behind her. I slump onto the bench, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. What was that? Did I just scream at my girlfriend and pretty much blame her for my problems? I don't know why Delilah puts up with me. At least now she won't have to put up with my antics any longer. I'll be dead before we can make amends, either from the disease or from the Games.

I shouldn't try to win, should I? I should be selfless and sacrificial, find a good little girl or boy to ally with and save them, shouldn't I? That would be the right thing to do. My disease is terminal. I'd last a week before I got out of the Games. There's no point in me winning. I should help save someone else. I hope I'm brave enough to do it. I hope I won't give in to my impulses and be selfish like I have been for the past several months.

The door swings open soundlessly, and I don't realize that the Peacekeeper is here to take me to the train until I feel his gloved hand on my shoulder. I start; damn, they really do grease the hinges on these doors. I jump to my feet, and I don't look at either Peacekeeper as we walk through the halls. In a couple of minutes we reach the back doors, and we walk out to the train platform, where one of the Peacekeepers is kneeling by the younger girl who is sobbing quietly, trying to comfort her. We step onto the platform, and I try to ignore the sobbing child next to me. Maybe I can protect her. Wouldn't be of much use, would it? She'd die ten minutes after I died. But still. It's the sentiment that matters, right?

I see the train come whooshing down the tracks, and the breath is knocked out of me. I think back to another one of my bucket list items, and a small grin fights its way onto my face. I bite my lip to keep my smile at bay. Maybe these Games won't be entirely bad.

 _I want to ride a train. Check._

* * *

 _In the jungle, the mighty jungle_

 _The lion sleeps tonight_

 _In the jungle the quiet jungle_

 _The lion sleeps tonight_

 _Near the village the peaceful village_

 _The lion sleeps tonight_

 _Near the village the quiet village_

 _The lion sleeps tonight_

* * *

 ** _Bernie Areli, 12_**

 ** _District Five Female_**

"It will be okay, honey," the woman Peacekeeper murmurs, stroking my head. She's taken off her helmet; her velvety black hair and dark brown skinned face are wrinkled by age, and she has a motherly disposition. I try to stop crying, but I can't. It's just a fear reflex. And while this woman is being nice I don't want her near me, I don't want her touching me, strangers scare me. I curl myself in a ball, crouching low to the ground. The smiling boy from the stage comes up next to us, and I quiver in disgust. How could you smile at a time like this? As the train approaches he smiles again and my gut lurches. He must have something wrong with him, too. That's the only reason he'd be grinning like it's his birthday as we board the train.

I hate feeling feeble and weak, but I am. I hate feeling so young; it bothers me when people act like I'm too young for everything, like I'm pure and innocent and I'm five years old. I might by twelve and shy, but I know things. Just because I'm not a teenager doesn't mean I'm an innocent little baby that needs to be swaddled. But that is how I feel right now. As I walk onto the train, I see Anneliese Petrova, our only Victor, and our Escort Ambrosia sitting at the table in the dining car. I want to keep myself together, I want to be mature and confident. I don't want to be that little girl that everyone pities. I don't want to be the oh so cute little kitten that, when placed to fend for itself in the wilderness, dies immediately. But I can't control myself. I'm still crying, although at least quieter than before, as I sit down. The boy, Jayce his name must be, takes one look at the food and turns his head away from them. Anneliese munches on a small piece of spiced fruit, and Ambrosia picks the olives out of a salad an Avox has just brought for her carefully, ignoring us. Finally, I manage to stop crying.

"S-sorry," I choke out, wiping my face with a soft, cushy white cloth napkin. The little bit of eyeliner Aunt Aly had me put on for the Reaping comes off. "Sorry for ruining the nice cloth napkin. I set down the soiled napkin.

"Don't worry honey, it's okay!" Ambrosia says in a too sweet voice, and I sigh as Ambrosia snaps her fingers and stiffly orders an Avox to take the napkin away. How can a woman be so nice to me but so mean to an Avox? They're people too, aren't they? My parents are people, I hope. Well, I don't know much about my parents, but all I know is they did something bad, and the best I can hope for is that they're Avoxes and not dead. But those thoughts are pushed from my head as Ambrosia leans over and dabs at my face, cooing like I'm a little baby that needs to be squeezed and hugged and watched constantly. I pull away and start eating a chocolate chip muffin, ignoring everyone and stuffing my face full until my cheeks are filled up like a chipmunk's.

"Swallow, dear," Anneliese instructs, and it's not in a light, sugary sweet voice that's secretly mocking me. She doesn't chime with laughter like Ambrosia is currently. She's serious. She takes another bite of spiced fruit and swallows, and I do the same.

"You're so precious!" Ambrosia titters, fanning herself with a painted hand. She reaches over to squeeze my cheek, and I recoil. Only two people do that to me: Mrs. Theardie and Mommy. Mrs. Theardie is dead and I have no idea where my Mom is. I'll probably never find out. Ambrosia snorts and turns away, and I hug myself and stare at the whorls in the mahogany table, gnawing on my lip nervously. I think of my cats, listing their names in my head over and over, imagining myself stroking their fur over and over...I imagine that they're here with me, and so is Mom and Dad and Aunt Aly and Uncle Daw and Mrs. Theardie and my best friend, Samantha. I imagine that everything will be alright, even though I know it won't be.

"I'm going to go take a nap if that's alright!" Jayce says too happily, saying the first thing he's said in the past ten minutes. He stands and leaves without another word, and Ambrosia rolls her eyes and continues to pluck olives from her salad, focused on her task. Anneliese looks at me with her big, round green eyes intensely, not realizing that her looking is bothering me. I shiver and stand up and walk over to the next car, which is a sitting room. There's a window, and I sit by it, watching colors fly past and blur together. I hug my knees to my chest, sitting on a cushy red and gold chair. The door into the car creaks open, and Anneliese steps in, trying to smile, her eyes still wide and curious. She's willowy and pale, like a ghost. She pulls up an ottoman and sits at my feet.

"You need to be better," Anneliese whispers, looking up at me. She squeezes my foot, and I look at her.

"Go away."

"Do you like to knit?" she asks, and I see a basket she has brought in that I didn't notice before. She heaves it onto her lap, and pulls out a bright yellow ball of yarn, knitting needles, and a half finished tapestry with various intricate patterns on it. I think back to a couple of months before.

 _I sit in the living room of Aunt Aly and Uncle Daw's house, shivering. Aunt Aly pulls out a knitted quilt and lays it over me gingerly, and I see tears pricking the corners of her eyes. I look at her, confused, and I take her hand._

 _"Did I do something? Is something wrong?" I inquire._

 _"No, nothing's wrong honey, that's just...your mother made that. She loved to knit."_

 _"Oh. I knew that. I did live with them until I was nine, Aunt Aly."_

 _"I know honey. It feels like they've been gone forever, though."_

 _"I know."_

I snap out of my reverie, and watch as Anneliese takes the knitting needles and shows me how to work them. I let her teach me and work my hands, and I watch as my creation blends with hers, and it actually looks rather nice.

"What would you like to make?" Anneliese asks. "We can knit _anything_."

My first impulse is to say a cat, my second a butterfly. But I need to grow up, don't I?

"I want to knit a happy family," I mutter, and Anneliese takes my hands and shows me how.

* * *

 **A/N: Ooh, District Five was definitely fun. I really enjoyed writing these two, and I can see lots of ways to develop them more. Ah, development. My favorite part of SYOTs besides the killing, and not being sarcastic xD and actually the killing sucks. Never mind.**

 **I wanted to show more parts of these guys, especially Bernie. I wanted to show she's not just the hapless cat breeder, although that is a big portion of her. She has more depth and I hope we'll see even more of that in the future.**

 **Who did you like better here, Jayce or Bernie? Have your thoughts on them changed?**

 **Jayce (1 pt.): What are the two things Jayce checks off of his bucket list in this chapter?**

 **Bernie (1 pt.): What does Bernie say Anneliese looks like when she comes in and sits with her in the sitting room train car?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	27. Goodbyes and Trains: Six

**A/N: So right now we have District Six, Libby and Fender! Halfway through the Goodbyes and Train Rides! Also, I have tallied up how many Pre-Games chapters we will have, so at the bottom I will tell you ;) Enjoy!**

 **Trigger Warnings: Profanity and mentions of drug abuse and incest**

* * *

 _Broken down refrigerators, leaky faucets_

 _All that masking tape is gone to waste_

 _Ceiling tiles are missing, stains adorn the carpet_

 _Some things aren't meant to be replaced_

 _Some things aren't meant to be replaced_

 _Light bulbs in your head, they might be burnt out_

 _Maybe rough around the edges, you barely function_

 _You're too tired, you can't carry all this hurt now_

 _You're more to me than all these broken things_

 _These broken things_

* * *

 ** _Libby Miles, 16_**

 ** _District Six Female_**

 _Ha, bitch! You got motherfucking REAPED! HA! Who's going to die? I know who's going to die. Do you know who's going to die, Libby? I don't think you know who is going to die. Do you want me to tell you who's going to die, little bitch?_

"I'm gonna die," I scowl as I step out of my pen. The girls that part to let me through look at me with equal parts disdain and sympathy. It's an odd mix of feelings to see on so many people's faces. Those two emotions don't go well together, just like a Reaping and Anaya don't go well together. She's been taunting me all morning about how I'll get Reaped, and now she's having a field day as I walk up to the stage.

 _Oh, how are you going to die my dear? Career's going to behead you, aren't they? Skinny little twelve year old's going to throttle you, you little whimp, you can't defend yourself. You're going to die! You're going to die so bad._

As I step onto the stage, I hiss, "If I die, you die too."

 _Touche. But I'm already dead, Libby! I've been dead for years! You know this isn't Anaya, right? You know this is you, right?_

"Anaya, shush," I growl to myself as I stand next to Medusa. She looks at me strangely, as if I'm the appalling one. She's the one dressed as an eons old mythological monster picking children to go into an arena and die. I should be the one gaping and shaking my head disapprovingly.

 _You really...I didn't think we were this stupid._

"What we?" I mutter. "There's you, and then there's me."

"FENDER HOPKINS!" Medusa hollers. I hug myself and I try to push Anaya out of my head. She's acting even weirder now, trying to mess with me brain, saying we're one thing, that she doesn't exist. This Fender guy struts out of the 17 year old pen all nice, prim and proper and, admittedly, sort of hot. He's bulging with muscles and exudes confidence and I recognize him. He gave a speech to my freshman P.E. class when I went into high school.

Fender stands next to me, hands clasped at his waist, and he tries to smile but doesn't do a great job. This guy's going to be a threat.

 _We don't have to worry about threats; we'll be dead before the gong even rings. We're going to step off our pedestal._

"Sure," I grumble to myself as Medusa shouts our names and walks us back stage.

"Did you say something?" Fender asks, cocking his head.

 _Tell him we're a freak, Libby. Tell him the truth._

"Nothing. Leave me alone," I bark, and his face sours and he turns away from me. The Peacekeepers take us down opposite halls and I'm happy to be away from him. He's too relaxed for this right now. He feels sort of confident and I can't deal with that.

 _We can't deal with it because we're a sniveling little bitch who's going to die._

"Who is this we?!" I shout all of the sudden. The Peacekeepers pause. I can't tell what expressions they're making since they have there bulky helmets on, but I know they must either be frowning or chuckling silently to themselves. The crazy girl. Ha ha ha. So funny.

"Are you okay?" one of them asks, popping his black glass visor up so I can see his plain brown eyes, filled with genuine worry.

"Come on, Cathasach," the other Peacekeepers growls at his counterpart. "The room's right there. Leave her be. She just got Reaped."

 _WE got Reaped._

Cathasach snaps his visor down, and the two Peacekeepers pull me over to a door, painted dark gray and flaking. Cathasach opens it gingerly, and the rusty hinges squeal. The other Peacekeeper shoves me inside too roughly, and I resist the urge to flip him off and scream obscenities at him as he and Cathasach close the door and leave me alone in the sitting room. I sigh and sit down on the bench right under a small window in the wall that has drapes over it. The entire room is dark and dreary, and it feels like I'm already dead and sitting in a huge coffin. Hell, there's even cobwebs in the corners. I know Six is poor, but they seriously can't clean a room in the Justice Building of all places? Well, it is Six. It's the sort of thing you'd expect.

The door screams open, and my parents shuffle in, both of them crying quietly. I stand up and run into their arms, and they hold me tight, squeezing the life out of me, but I don't care. I let them mash me in their embraces.

 _A little too intimate, eh? Incest is looked down upon in the Districts, but it's perfectly fine in the kinky Capitol. Good thing you're going there._

"Go. Away. Anaya." I hiss under my breath, so quiet that my parents cannot hear through their excessive sniffling and sobbing. I expect her to fire something back about how she'll _always_ be here or some cliched crap like that, but she doesn't reply. She's gone, and it feels weird. My head feels blank and empty, but I ignore that and just let my family squash me. We stay like that until a Peacekeeper comes to the door. I hope it's Cathasach. Maybe he'll let us hold onto one another for a minute or two longer. I hope it's not Mr. Grumpypants.

"Time to get on the train," he booms. Mr. Grumpypants it is. I sigh and step away from my parents. They cling to each other and both of them kiss me on the cheeks before walking out together, supporting one another. Our family is so close. I love my parents so much, and I loved Anaya so much before she died, so much that her death drove me to drugs. My parents loved her so much, too. My dad lost his job after she died because he lost his work ethic for a while, and my mom would start crying whenever she saw anything that reminded her of some minor aspect of Anaya, so she was crying all the time. And I was thirteen, stupid and depressed and thinking a needle could cure my pain and make me cool and pretty and not an outcast.

Mr. Grumpypants pulls me out of the room, and Cathasach is waiting in the hall. I walk between the two of them, and my head feels light. I feel dizzy, almost. I realize Anaya hasn't said anything in over fifteen minutes. That's weird. That never happens.

 _We sent me away. That's why I was gone. I can come back if you want. I'll come back._

"Just a little longer," I whisper to myself, and Mr. Grumpypants audibly groans at hearing me talking to myself.

"Keep your words to yourself," Mr. Grumpypants hisses. "We don't want to hear a crazy addict girl talking. Girls are better quiet."

"Someone's sexist and is assuming things!" I laugh, fighting out of his grasp. "I think this nice fellow can take me the rest of the way, asshole."

"Hah. Have fun dying, crazy girl," Mr. Grumpypants hollers.

"Don't you have to come with, Ruthers?" Cathasach inquires.

"Nah, it doesn't matter, I can't spend another second with that creep." Mr. Grumpypants, apparently Mr. Ruthers, marches away without another word, and Cathasach takes my arm and lightly leads me out the back door and up to the train platform. The train that comes in beautiful, but I've seen dozens like it before. It doesn't wow me. Fender is smiling when he steps on the train however, goofy, elated, and I just grumble. He looks like he's in love. The only people I've ever loved are my parents and Anaya. I'll never see my parents again, and Anaya will be with me until the day I die, which should be very soon.

* * *

 _I only wanna do bad things to you_

 _So good, that you can't explain it_

 _What can I say, it's complicated_

 _Nothing's that bad_

 _If it feels good_

 _So you come back_

 _Like I knew you would_

 _And we're both wild_

 _And the night's young_

 _And you're my drug_

 _Breathe you in 'til my face numb_

* * *

 ** _Fender Hopkins, 17_**

 ** _District Six Male_**

I know I shouldn't feel like this. I should feel dead and cold inside, trying to repress the tears until I get to my room after dinner so I can cry myself to sleep. I should be putting on a brave face, not have a natural one, and the warm feeling blossoming in my stomach shouldn't be there; if anything, it should be lies I'm making up in my head, thoughts tricking myself into feeling okay. I shouldn't feel the way I do right now, but I do.

My mother and my father came in. They both put on their brave faces although my mother's lower lip trembled and my father's handshake wasn't as tight as it usually was. Torque galloped in and crushed me in a half handshake, half embrace, but I was used to shenanigans like this from Torque so it didn't bother me. Also, it was Torque; he's my best friend. Anything he does is okay in my book. He's a great guy. I hope if I die he'll get that mechanics shop up and running with the help of his younger brother, Artem. And after Apollo, Demica Taski walked in. She looked too beautiful in her bright sunny yellow sundress, her cute dark brown hair curled, a light dusting of makeup on her gorgeous face. We were like magnets, and I stroked her hair as I saw the tears brimming in her eyes. They threatened to spill over, and I wiped them away and tilted her chin up so she could look into my eyes.

"You're beautiful," I murmured, and I kissed her, and she kissed me back. I'd never realized it, but for the past three years Demica and I've been friends, ever since we started high school and were in all the same mechanics classes, we've been dancing around the truth that holds us together, the truth that's kept her my friend for three years. The only person that I have left as a friend from freshman year besides Demica is Torque. People change, but we didn't. We lied to ourselves. I always knew I liked her, but I also knew she liked me and we never did anything about it. We should have done something while we had the chance. I pressed her against the wall and kissed her and everything was a warm blur and I know we would've gone further if the Peacekeeper hadn't opened the door and ordered her out. She left, smiling sadly, her lipstick all over my lips and my neck, and I smiled.

I feel too happy. I keep stabbing my rounded, clipped-at-little-too-short nails into my palms. I shouldn't feel happy and positive, but all I can feel is Demica's body entwined with mine and her supple lips, warm and soft, against mine. I clench my fists and dig my flat nails into my palms until they're almost bleeding. All my muscles are tensed and bulging against my Reaping outfit of a dark gray dress shirt and khakis, my track medallion my dad gave me to be my token cold against my straining thigh. I finally relax, and my eyes light up as the train, looking like a bullet of quicksilver, approaches. I've seen dozens of trains before, but their speed and beauty always gets me for some reason. They're just so free, like I was until around thirty or forty minutes ago, when the ridiculously dressed Medusa Soldes fished the thin paper slip with my name on it out of the Reaping ball.

We step onto the train and into the dining car. The aforementioned Medusa sits at the table along with our sole Mentor and Victor, Calla Espenson. Calla's notorious around the District for her near perpetual state of drunkenness, but the Games are about the only time she cuts back on the weed and the alcohol and the morphling and is clear headed. Notice that I said _cut back._ She's got a glass of scotch in her hands, and she stares at the ice in it with disdain until we come in. She looks up, her incising gray eyes cleaving into us. She seems to immediately write off Libby; she's also notorious for her bluntness. Libby's jaw tenses, and she sits down across from Medusa at the table. She looks me over a couple of times, not in a sexy way like girls and guys do at school or on the streets, but in an analytical way. She flashes me the tiniest sliver of a smile, and then she's drinking her scotch and glaring sullenly again. I take that as my cue to sit down, so I do so.

"So, Mr. Hopkins," Calla says, looking at me. "Where do you get those muscles from? Factories? Are you uneducated?"

"No miss," I reply, bowing my head down a little out of respect. "I work out at the school's gym every morning. If I can't be a mechanic, I want to be a P.E. teacher when I grow up and move out of my parents' house."

"I don't need to hear your life style," Calla hisses. "How much can you bench? You weigh around 170 don't you?"

"Yes, I'm 169. Around 270."

Calla whistles. "There might be some hope for you. Can you throw a punch?"

"Yeah, and I'm on track too-"

"Okay, wonder boy, who gives a crap," Libby hisses. "Are you going to ask me some questions, bitch?"

Calla glares daggers at her, and the train car seems to visibly drop in temperature. Medusa looks shocked, the green bean she's about to eat hanging limply from her fork as she gapes at Libby. I look at her incredulous, and Calla rolls her eyes.

"Nice fire, girl. Girls like you always die first. Now get out of my sights."

"What if I don't want to?" Libby jeers.

Calla picks up a steak knife from the table and strokes its blade. "Girl, did you ever watch my Games? That's not even a question, is it? Did you see when I threw a dagger like a throwing knife right into Garry Manchas's forehead?" Libby tenses. "I still know how to do that, honey. Now get out of this train car, or I swear to Gaius Snow's great grandmother I will gut you, and everyone here knows I'm not kidding."

Libby snarls at her but stands and marches off to the adjacent car. Calla just chuckles and turns back to me, setting down the knife.

"It's all about threats and emotion, Fender," Calla sighs, looking at the knife on her table. "It's all about who can play their Games the best."

"I know," I whisper.

"Do you?" Calla inquires, and I don't know for sure, but I know I'm willing to learn.

* * *

 **A/N: I hoped you enjoyed revisiting Libby and Fender! They were fun to write again like all of these tributes are. This was probably the longest G &T chapter yet! XD I just really got into writing Fender at first and then Calla got put into the equation, and when she snapped at Libby I was having too much fun to cut it off right then and there XD Hope it was good!**

 **I know Libby's a little confusing right now, but in Training everything about her will be made clear, I promise. I just want to have her have some development, and so if everything about the voices is confusing, it's supposed to be. She's confused herself, but she'll find out the truth in the Capitol, and well, we'll see what happens when we get there! :D**

 **So, yeah, I tallied up the pre-Games chapters and y'all are going to be able to buy your tributes some pretty nice flamethrowers and grenades. We're going to have 60 total chapters with like over a hundred POVs that can earn you points. Dear god. This arena is going to be full of explosives! XD but please, do no send LOTS of grenades. You can send one, maaaaybe two. But let's not explode the entire effing arena, alright friends? I know we want everyone to survive, but...I'm thinking I should just get rid of grenades from the sponsorship list xD**

 **Who did you like better here, Libby or Fender? Have your opinions of them changed?**

 **EDIT: I FORGOT TRIVIA AHH**

 **Libby (1 pt.): What is the name of the nice Peacekeeper? (good cop & bad cop cliche much? xD)**

 **Fender (1 pt.): How many pounds does Fender weigh?**

 **Also yes I am going to be revising the sponsorship prices XD When I made the sponsorship I hadn't mapped out the Pre-Games and I did that right after sponsorship so I didn't realize how many chapters we'd have. I thought we would have around 40 and those prices would be okay. Oceanside was only 31 chapters so I'm struggling to realize that this story will be around 80 chapters! :O I needed to go edit it anyway since I forgot a medical section.**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	28. Interlude: A Head Gamemaker

**A/N: Our second interlude with Ludum Factorem, our Head Gamemaker for the 8th year in a row in this universe :) Enjoy reading about him, I'm not sure how you guys are going to take him! XD**

 **Trigger Warnings: Intense romantic scenes and adultery and profanity**

 **P.S. This turned out a lot longer then intended, and I sort of created _another_ subplot! I might have to add an extra chapter or two of Pre Games to explore this devious subplot I have created! Gah!**

* * *

 _I assumed that there was only room for_

 _My dreams in my dreams so I'd sleep and repeat 'til the moon went home_

 _And I didn't know where it'd take me but made me so crazy in love with it_

 _Then the universe aligned_

 _Oh, with what I had in mind_

 _Who knew there was a life_

 _Behind those four pink walls?_

 _Now I wake up to a different bedroom everyday_

 _Living up in the clouds thinking of how it all changed_

 _Used to sit and watch paint dry_

 _Amazed by the limelight_

 _I can't ever be afraid_

* * *

 ** _Ludum Factorem, 34_**

 ** _Capitol Resident_**

 ** _Head Gamemaker of the Hunger Games_**

I took Iocus and Conludia on a tour of the Eighteenth Hunger Games arena. It's their favorite, and one of my favorites as well. My favorite Games I've Headed has to be the Twentieth Games, with the total darkness and the only weapons being maces and the horror filled forests with the skeleton horses and ravenous wolves. But that place is too gruesome for my two children; Iocus is eight, and Conludia is five. I scoured the innocence out of thousands of young kids with the Twentieth Games, the "Nightmare Games" as some people call them. I was supposed to save that arena for the Quarter Quell that the public still has no idea about, but I have an even better idea for the Quell that Snow likes, so I'll use that one when the time comes.

Anyway, the Eighteenth arena is a beautiful, fantastical place. It's a beautiful Gothic style castle furnished with precious metals and precious stones. There's lots of light and the place would be picturesque if it weren't for the false blood, corpses, body parts, weapons, mutts, and other Games paraphernalia that litter the castle's many wide passageways and realistic rooms. The kids love it, however. Their favorite part is when they get to sit on the throne in the throne room. It's exactly where cocky Waverley Tux of District Four sat after she slaughtered the girl from One, Glamourette, and the boy from Seven, Toney, waiting for the hovercraft to take her home. A replica of the girl's steely gray trident lays at the foot of the throne, and Iocus uses it as a stepping stool to haul himself onto the throne. I lift Conludia up, and she and her brother squirm as I take a picture of them. Then I help them down, and we wander through the halls, stopping at a concession stand. The concession stand, like all of the stands in every arena, provide examples of the food given in the Games to the tributes to eat, such as jerky or bread that the tributes ate. They also offer special treats inspired by the arena. Iocus takes a sugary sucker in the shape of Waverley's trident, and Conludia decides to have a donut with golden sprinkle crowns all over it; it's also filled with dark red jelly.

My right hand woman, Vecily Cochran, the woman in charge of arena construction, opens these arena parks the year after the Games conclude; the Twenty First's arena should be opening about a month after this Twenty Second Games ends. Vecily's outdone herself as always with this arena park, and I mentally note to commend her like I always do when I see her next. With Vecily supervising of arena matters, my left hand man Odore Ehrmphelt supervising the Pre-Games festivities and myself overseeing the entire affair, especially the tributes and the Games themselves, we make a formidable team. Each year, the Games get better and better, although the Twenty First was a little bit lacking compared to the Twentieth, but then again I doubt many Games will ever top the Twentieth. There are Games, and then there are _Games._ We've had some great years and some great Victors, but there's only two true years that stand out to me as _Games._ Those two are the Twentieth of course, along with the Tenth. The Tenth Games really set the tone with what was to come. Two would've turned out so much different if Serephina Manchas had not won. Careers might still be solitary kids trained in their basements; hell, they'd probably have died off by now.

As my kids eat their snacks, I walk them out to the hovercraft that will ferry us back to the Capitol in under an hour. Several other tourists come onto the hovercraft, all of them shocked into awe when they see me. I started out with my first Games being Scylas's, and those were a whirlwind. If anything, they'd be the next _Games_ on that list. Then we had two surprises in a row, with electrifying Takami and the concealed threat, Woof. Then we had a run of two bloodthirsty, cocky Careers, Waverley from Four and Soren from One, who both are still too young and unpredictable to Mentor. Then we had crazy Oxen, and just last year we had the classic Career and what could be the second coming of the Headmistress, Lucia. It's been a crazy ride so far, and I don't expect it to stop any time soon. I'm going to keep going as long as I can, and make these Games as great as I can.

I strap Conludia and Iocus into their seats, and soon enough the hovercraft takes off. Conludia falls asleep and Iocus is occupied with his Games trading cards; he just bought a new pack of Eighteenth Edition cards from the arena store. He rips it open and pulls out the eight cards inside. Each pack has one of Waverley, and he tucks that in his pocket; it's probably his fifth or sixth Waverley Tux. He then pulls out one of the arena, one of the cleaver the girl from 10 used to murder the boy from One as he slept after the Careers' split, and one of Glamourette. He gasps; the runner up is always the hardest card to get in the pack. The next two are Bloodbaths, the girls from Nine and Twelve, and the last two are different rooms in the castle. Iocus just stares at his Glamourette card with a happy, kind smile, and I ruffle his hair, grinning, and I look at it too. The artists always draw the tributes perfectly.

"So all you need is Toney Ramonze and the 9th place girl, Clary Jonex of Eight?" I ask him.

"Yep!" he yelps, and then he tucks his head against my shoulder and falls asleep like his sister. I love the two of them so much.

* * *

 _On the subway home_

 _I lost you in a fever_

 _When did we grow old_

 _Million things we done_

 _We never stopped at nothing_

 _When did we grow old_

 _Come come come back to me_

 _Come back to me again_

 _Come come come back to me_

 _Come back to me again_

 _When you gonna_

 _Come come come back to me_

 _Come back to me again_

* * *

 ** _Ludum, about an hour later_**

I open the door into my family's huge penthouse. Conludia's still asleep, and Iocus is about drift off again. I walk over to their rooms; they're adjacent, and they have a Jack and Jill bathroom. I open the doors to their rooms, and I tuck them in one at a time. I stand in Iocus's doorway for a moment, and I smile as I watch my little angel sleep. I can hear Conludia's soft snores from her bedroom, and my heart flutters with happiness. I should go get my wife Amonia and have her stand here with me. She loves her children. She's the perfect mother, and the perfect wife. She knows me, and knows them. She loves moments like this. I sigh, and stand there for another minute, soaking up the beauty of life I helped create, before I head to my room.

"Oh yes!" I hear, and I pause in my tracks. Is that...my brother, Aupus?

I crack open the door to my bedroom, and I audibly gasp. It feels like a scene out of a bad romcom. I flick on the light, and there my wife and my brother are, tangled underneath the sheets, clearly in the middle of fucking. Everything's frozen; the sheets are half off, and I can see their naked bodies, and I can see...I can see my brother...my brother...no...not with my wife...no!

"Ludum," Amonia whimpers. A frown solidifies on my face. She slides out from underneath Aupus and stands. She's naked, and usually I would go over to her and start kissing her. But I can never look at this woman the same again; I can never make love to her again. I turn around, fear and pain in my eyes, and I run as fast as I can out of the penthouse. I'll have to sort this out in the morning, I know. I don't know how I'll ever be able to talk to either of them again. But Aupus is my brother and Amonia is the mother of my children. And they are having sex! This can't be the first time, can it? How long have they been doing this behind my back?! Tears prick in my eyes, and I begin to sob as I crash out of the penthouse and into the elevator. I stand there with the doors open for a long minute, waiting for Aupus and Amonia to come running out, ready to explain and apologize. But they don't, and I swear I can hear moans coming from the penthouse. I whimper and slam my finger into the button for the main floor of the tower. The elevator swoops down, and I step out onto the street, dizzy and lost and not knowing what to do. My fists clench, and I find myself sitting on a bench, my body racking with sobs.

I text Vecily and Odore to meet me at the Gamemaking Center after I manage to stave off the tears. I wipe my eyes, and then I stand, drawing in a rattling breath. They're probably still having sex, that fucking whore that I love to death, the hoe I thought was a faithful wife, and my brother, the steadfast Peacekeeper with a wife of his own and a baby on the way! What will my sister-in-law Gaudia think?! It takes me forever to stagger my way to the Gamemaking Center even though it's only a block away. By the time I stumble into the room where we control the Games, Vecily and Odore are both there already, and the lights are on. Vecily has a bottle of scotch, and Odore is wearing his funny sweater that always makes me laugh. I chuckle weakly, and I sit down at the table. These two are the best. They're my best friends and my best underlings for eight years, and I'm thankful that they're here.

"What's wrong, Lud?" Vecily asks, sitting down next to me. Odore lays down on the table, propping his head up with his hands and staring into my eyes with concern as Vecily grabs my hand and squeezes it to steady me.

"Amonia's been having affairs with my brother Aupus. I walked in on them."

They both sputter incredulous exclamations, and I just nod along until they've cracked open the scotch, and we're drinking it slowly and staring at the arena map in front of us. This year was supposed to be a little less interesting in terms of arena; just a prairie with a few coyotes. But it can't just be that any more. My gut bubbles with sickly hot anger, and there's only way I know how to vent it right now, the only way I can exculpate it from my system.

"Let's fuck them up this year," I hiss darkly. "Is it possible to create multiple tornadoes in the arena, Vecily?"

* * *

 **A/N: So that went from oh so sweet and cute to dark and revolting in the blink of an eye. Sorry. Originally I was going to have Ludum have an affair with Vecily, but when I wrote the first part I liked him too much, so I flipped the script. That was longer than I wanted it to be, but oh well. Bygones will be bygones, and who's going to complain about more content?! XD**

 **Yeah, I've been writing really fast with high quality and quantity. I just don't have a lot to do over Winter Break and I resolved to myself that I'd get out as much BMO as I could, so that's what's up with all the super fast updates. I'm really hitting my stride with this story right now and it's really fun to write. I cannot believe we're already inching towards 100,000 words. I know it's around 12,000-13,000 words away, but I could _possibly_ hit 100,000 before the end of my break, the 3rd, which would just be insane! This story is going to be soooo long, hope you guys do not mind! xD**

 **What did you think of Ludum? Was this new subplot interesting? Do you think it will effect the Games beyond the addition of tornadoes?**

 **Ludum Part 1 (1 pt.) - Who placed second in the 18th Games?**

 **Ludum Part 2 (1 pt.) - What is the name of Ludum's sister-in-law?**

 **Answers to the previous chapters:**

 **Cordelia - Carolina Martinez**

 **Chavez - King of Hearts**

 **Jayce - Feeling the truest fear imaginable and riding a train**

 **Bernie - a ghost**

 **Libby - Cathasach (yeah I know it's hard to spell if you got anything that starts with C go for it. It's just a random name from a 500YOP chapter I was reading before I wrote Libby's POV)**

 **Fender - 169**

 **Thanks so much! We're at 359 reviews right now and I cannot thank you guys enough for all of your support! I love you all!**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	29. Goodbyes and Trains: Seven

**A/N: Another quick update, scream at me if you must, but I hope it's a happy scream! :D We have District Seven here, and we're revisiting Ivy Cross and Baron Arbor! I hope you enjoy reading! :D**

 **Trigger Warnings: Profanity and sexism (because, you know, Ivy Cross xD)**

 **P.S. I think this is the longest one yet!**

* * *

 _I can see you're disappointed_

 _By the way you look at me_

 _And I'm sorry that I'm not_

 _The woman you thought I'd be_

 _Yes, I've made my mistakes_

 _But listen and understand_

 _My mistakes are no worse than yours_

 _Just because I'm a woman_

* * *

 ** _Ivy Cross, 16_**

 ** _District Seven Female_**

The smile on my face is a grimace now. I can't stand it. I want to shiver and quake and run, run until I can't. Harlow's arm is wrapped around my waist, and his hungry finger seem as if they're just waiting to paw up my ass and my...other parts. I hate my father for buying this too-short, pastel pink dress for me to wear. If I were to bend over he'd see my vagina if I wasn't wearing underwear. I keep tugging down the skirt, and I know Harlow doesn't want it down. I know he's just trying to be romantic or something, to swoon me with his oh-so-intoxicating masculinity and dominance, but really it's just uncomfortable. When we reach the square, and Harlow has to wait at the edge since he's nineteen, I feel so free. I tug my skirt down as far as it will go, and it stays there. Was Harlow tugging it up? Oh damn that man. I clench my hands into fists and I bite my tongue as I wait to get my finger pricked.

My brother Pine proposed to Marla, Harlow's sister, two nights ago. They've probably already had sex. My brother's the type of man that would do that, and Marla thinks she's in love with him. She's in love with the thought of him, but a thought can last a million lifetimes. At least she's happy with how her life is turning out. But, anyway, now that those two are a happy couple, I know Harlow's going to pop the question. It's not going to be alone; he's knows I'm "skittish" and "meek" and whatever shitty adjectives his family uses to describe women who don't want to be baby machines domineered by men like we're sailboats or cattle. He has the ring I bet. I need to run, somehow. I just need to. There's no other way.

When I got Reaped at the Preliminary Reaping back in Nuesville along with 14 year old Trunk Cathsby, I didn't really think much of it. Nuesville is a decently sized town, but most of our population is older; there's only twelve other girls who are sixteen in the town, and Marla is one of them. My neighbor Eddy went two years ago when he was eighteen, and he said it was fun, a good meal and a good hotel to share with your family.

My dad gave all of those privileges to Harlow. We slept in the same room last night, although I got out of bed and slept on the floor the moment he drifted off. We shared a supposedly romantic dinner; he fawned over how pretty I was and I just ate my salad and steak quietly and stared at the tablecloth. There were fifty two blue stripes, and fifty three black ones, on the tablecloth. It was sort of cool, minus Harlow. There was kids from all over the District along with a chaperone like their parent or grandmother or, in my case, my groom-to-be. It's sort of sad; if a kid's Reaped in an Outer District, they only get one person who comes to their goodbyes if they don't live in the main city. If I got Reaped, I'd get a half hour alone with Harlow. Ha. He'd probably try to have sex with me or something.

I stand in the pen. I do not know anyone around me of course, but there's clumps of nervous girls forming, complete strangers who maybe met at the dinner or in the hotel and now are clinging to each other like their lives depend on it, because they're scared out of their wits. In some towns, being Reaped for the Prelims makes you like the Prom Queen and King or something like that. In others, its a terrible omen and everyone treats the day like a funeral. And in other towns like my own, no one gives a fuck about who goes to the capital of our District; they always come back, and our cliched existence continues and the drawn out, boring cycle of life continues to rotate as it "should". You're born, and if you're a boy you marry when you're eighteen or nineteen, and if you're a girl you marry when you're sixteen or seventeen. You make lots of babies, and then you watch them grow up and marry and have babies, and if you're lucky, you get to see their babies make babies of their own! Just the thought of sitting on a porch with a gray haired Harlow and bearing the surname Teuscher and watching our many offspring play and grow up and procreate themselves just makes me want to throw up, not even kidding. I don't know, if I was marrying for love, if I'd ever want kids.

"IVY CROSS!" Razzle Junehop screams and I don't even know what's happening, but I force myself to walk out of the pen as relieved girls part around me. My hands shake, and I steady them by gnawing off my fingernails. My left pinky finger's nail has gotten too long anyway. Not really, but I need an excuse to give into my bad habit of biting my nails. As I reach the stage, I force myself to put my hands down at my sides. As I stand next to Razzle, I've gained a shred of confidence and I keep my back straight and I manage to get a tiny, shaky smile on my face. It only grows as I realize something. I won't have to marry Harlow.

Speaking of the douche. "Ivy, my dear!" he wails from the crowd. What happens next is just instinct. My middle finger shoots up and it feels so damn good, I can't even explain it. My smile grows even more and I want to start laughing, taunting him, but I can't seem crazy. Razzle pulls out a male slip, but some random sixteen year old guy volunteers and looks half crazed as he splutters his name. I'd hoped I'd get some nice guy like the one who was Reaped, Malachi. He looked like a hard worker and a possible ally. I've always wanted to meet another Seven guy outside of Nuesville and see if they're any different from those back home. Looks like that's not going to happen. Baron's head is probably going to explode or something weird. He seems like the type whose sanity would break in the Games, if they haven't already. But he does look cunning and willing to kill, and rather strong. He might be a threat. It's such an old saying, but keep you friends close, and your enemies closer. As Razzle announces our names, I shake his hand and smile prettily. He just rolls his eyes and walks away.

I walk into the goodbye room, two paces ahead of the Peacekeepers. I don't need them to spur me forward, and the room is marked in big bold black letters declaring **FEMALE TRIBUTE GOODBYE ROOM.** Classic Seven style, bold and out in the open. Some of our citizens aren't...the most smart citizens, so everything around here, especially in the Justice Building, is labeled clearly and concisely.

I sit on the bench in the room, expecting Harlow to come in at any second. But he doesn't. I get a whole thirty minutes to myself to chuckle quietly and think about my future being torn away and tossed in the trash. Pretty much every other tribute would be weeping right now, thinking about how their future hubby and kiddies are gone for good now, but it just makes me grin. No Harlow. No baby machine Ivy! I will never, _ever_ bear the surname Teuscher!

It feels wrong to be happy, but I am. I wonder how the Games could be something so good when they're really something so bad, but I guess everyone sees things differently. I'm an expert on that type of thing. I've always been the different one.

The Victor's Village of Seven's here in the capital of Seven, Ashburgh. I never have to go back to Nuesville again, no matter if I'm alive or if I'm dead in a coffin. The tribute graveyard is here, in Ashburgh, too. I'll get to see the world, and I'll finally be free, even though it's all just a simple illusion. I don't really care, however. If I get out of marrying Harlow, even if it means I'm going to die, so be it. I'd rather die than marry him and be his baby maker.

I'd rather die in the Games than die a conventional death in Nuesville. That's just the way I'd like it, and now, thanks to Razzle Junehop, I'll have it that way.

* * *

 _I sat alone, in bed till the morning_

 _I'm crying, "They're coming for me"_

 _And I tried to hold these secrets inside me_

 _My mind's like a deadly disease_

 _I'm bigger than my body_

 _I'm colder than this home_

 _I'm meaner than my demons_

 _I'm bigger than these bones_

 _And all the kids cried out, "Please stop, you're scaring me"_

 _I can't help this awful energy_

 _God damn right, you should be scared of me_

 _Who is in control?_

* * *

 _ **Baron Arbor, 16**_

 _ **District Seven Male**_

I stand on the train platform, grinning viciously. The two Peacekeepers seem sort of bothered with me, but I don't really care. I just stared death in the face and now here I am, alive, with a chance of living to the end of my days. Thoughts of what I could do now fill my head. If I win, no, when I win, I can harbor all of my friends in the Coven and protect them from the law in the Victor's Village. I can give Grandma Circe the life she deserves, with a real wooden floor and heat and cooling in a real house in a real village with real food and real tools inside it. I can do so much when I win. Now it's just a task of deciding how.

Ivy Cross joins me on the train platform, and she's smiling, too. It's not a fake smile like I'd expect it to be, it's a real one like mine, filled with hope and a dash of exhilaration. She doesn't look at me, seemingly ignoring me, and I can understand why. I did get a little out of hand when I got onto the stage and volunteered. But who wouldn't be just a little excited when they're escaping the gallows and certain death?

My Grandma Circe was the one who came with me to Ashburgh for the true Reaping. She knew what I was going to do; I volunteered back at home in Ainslee's (our home town's) Preliminary Reaping. She said she didn't condone what I was doing, but she understood my reasons. She said death was death, and I countered with one of her favorite sayings: _Hope is eternal._ She couldn't fire back to that. Rowan was sad the entire time the couple of days before I left, knowing I was going off to the Games and probably wouldn't come back, but I comforted her and got her to laugh and smile. She is my best friend, after all. I can't leave her glum and depressed while I'm gone. The other members of the Coven daring enough to come visit me in the stocks where I was being held wished me good luck, and no one else came to visit me except a drunkard who went on a rant about how disgusting I was before the Peacekeepers dragged him away. I didn't mine listening to him prattle, however. It just gave me more fuel to keeping going, more fuel to show the world what I was and to break the mold that had been built around what I was. I wasn't practicing witchcraft and magic. No matter how much I wanted to believe it, we were just a group of jokers, medicine men and women who knew how to produce potions to heal the sick and comedians who could make others laugh and complete feats of mystery that were just the cause of sleight of hand and distraction. We made the mistake of calling it magic, and then people thought we were crazy and everything spiraled out of control.

The train appears on the horizon like a gleaming angel sent from heaven, whizzing down the tracks near soundlessly. The brakes screech as it comes to a stop, and Ivy cringes a little bit at the loud sound but I don't mind it. The Peacekeepers step back and the train comes fully to a stop. I open the door and gesture for Ivy to go in first. She looks at me strangely, as if I have some vendetta against her already. I just opened the door for you, girl. She steps inside the train, and I follow her, pulling the door closed behind me. The train starts moving soon after Ivy and I have sat down at the table.

Our Mentors, Oakes and Paula, sit at the table. Both won with a mixture of cunning, strength, survival skills, tree climbing, and skills with axes and hatchets. We're one of the only five Districts to have two Victors, and since Eight got two Victors pretty much from luck it seems, we're pegged as the fourth strongest District and the strongest non-Career Districts. Our tributes almost always do well, and we have the best Outlying track record in terms of how long our tributes survive on average. Razzle isn't at the table; Oakes informs us she's changing into more comfortable clothing. Oakes is smiling and seems all nice and warm and fuzzy, almost like the uncle you don't really know that's already half drunk when you get to the party. Paula's icy and cold and stares at her nails, which are long, glossy, and cared for impeccably. She and Ivy start chatting quietly, and Ivy's words manage to coax a smile onto Paula's pale-as-snow face. I pick up a bonbon from the table and munch on it thoughtfully, enjoying the burst of flavors inside my mouth. Razzle totters into the train car, out of her flashing leaf dress and in a simpler cocktail dress made of a autumn leave print. She smiles at Ivy and I and shakes our hands. Everything is so amiable here, and even if Paula is a little cold, Ivy's relaxed her somehow. The five of us chatter about nonsense about things in Seven. Turns out Razzle vacations to Seven all the time and one of the houses in the Victor's Village is practically her own. After talking for a while, Ivy and Paula stand up from the table and push in their chairs.

"We're going to go discuss strategy on our own," Paula grunts, her smile gone, her cold, no-frills demeanor back. She and Ivy trot out of the car, and once they're gone the mood is even more relaxed. Razzle and Oakes sit on one side of the table and I sit on the other.

"Such a courageous young man, volunteering!" Razzle chuckles. "What made you do that?"

"I'm on death row because I dabble with medicine and card tricks and the Peacekeepers think I'm an evil sorcerer." Razzle laughs uproariously, but Oakes's face darkens a bit as he stares at me, a little concerned and a little disturbed.

"Are you the boy from the Coven in Ainslee?" Oakes inquires.

"Yeah, how did you know?" I shoot back, surprised he's heard of my plight. The Victor's Village and Ashburgh are a good, long drive from Ainslee.

"My sister and her family live in Elmboro," Oakes mutters. "It's-"

"Right next door, I know, I've gone there before with my grandma to the spice shop, they don't have one of those over in Ainslee. I guess I'm the talk of the county, then? I wouldn't be surprised, people out there always want something to talk about."

"Well, yeah, your story's circulating, but my sister told me about you after you volunteered during the Preliminary Reaping. She heard you were on death row, accused with one count of witchcraft, and thought that you might be volunteering at the big Reaping and that I should look into you, that you might be my charge this year. Seq was right, as she usually is. So yeah, I've got some background on you. Sorry, not trying to be creepy, but I like to be prepared."

"That's fine," I murmur. "So, can we talk strategy? Should I focus on skills I don't know well yet in training? If the Careers ask me to be in their alliance, should I accept? Should I make an alliance or go it solo in the Games?"

"Whoa, slow down!" Oakes chuckles. He pauses for a moment, and then says, "Yes, no, maybe so."

"Alright, then," I reply, grinning. "So, I have a lot more questions. I need to have this all down, and I need to be prepared. So, let's say I come across a water source and I'm really thirsty, but I don't have a filter or iodine, but it looks clean enough to drink, but then again-"

"Don't drink it. Play it safe," Oakes says, cutting me off.

"Play it safe," I mutter. "I'm not the best at that."

"Well, you'll have to study up on that if you want to survive, Baron."

"I will. I really will."

"Then there's hope for you yet."

* * *

 **A/N: District Seven! Yay! I had to make myself stop with Ivy. I love all of these tributes, but damn, when I get in that girl's head and start writing, I just could go forever, on and on and on. I hope it was fun to get another look at these two!**

 **I'm going to go back and fix the sponsor system if you didn't see that already. I need to up the points for the items, especially weapons, now that I see how many chapters we are going to have in this story.**

 **Who did you like better here, Ivy or Baron? Have your opinions of them changed?**

 **Ivy (1 pt.): What is the name of the boy who was Reaped alongside Ivy at the Nuesville Preliminary Reaping?**

 **Baron (1 pt.): What is one of Grandma Circe's favorite sayings that Baron uses against her when he volunteers the first time for the Preliminary Reaping? (Hint, it's three words!)**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	30. Goodbyes and Trains: Eight

**A/N: Today we're going back to the lovely District 8 to continue meeting Gaia and Calico! I split Gaia's POV because I already had a couple hundred words for her, but then I realized I so should have had Calico been the goodbye tribute, but Gaia's part was really good for her character, so Gaia gets to stand on the stage for several hundred words and then she gets the train rides after they meet everyone XD Sorry for the confusion! Enjoy reading everyone, I hope this is a good New Year's Eve present!**

 **P.S. Yes a song from Wicked. Sue me. XD**

 **Trigger warnings: profanity**

* * *

 _'Cause I'd get a thousand hugs_

 _From ten thousand lightning bugs_

 _As they tried to teach me how to dance_

 _A foxtrot above my head_

 _A sock hop beneath my bed_

 _The disco ball is just hanging by a thread_

 _(Thread, thread...)_

 _I'd like to make myself believe_

 _That planet Earth turns slowly_

 _It's hard to say that I'd rather stay awake when I'm asleep_

 _'Cause everything is never as it seems_

 _(When I fall asleep)_

* * *

 ** _Gaia Imani, 15_**

 ** _District Eight Female_**

Standing on the stage, I can't breathe. Tears drip down my face, and I'm shivering. I need to be presentable, I need to tip my chin up and smile and think of Bobbin and Mom and Satin and slow my breathing and steady my hands and stop these tears cascading down my face. Gaia Imani, you're alive still. And if you want to keep your heart beating, you need to find a way to survive these Games, and the first step in doing that is looking presentable and sponsorable. You're a fifteen year old girl from Eight. You have your work cut out for you. So many options. Fade into the background or stand out? Alliance or solo? Thoughts and decisions start to cloud my mind and the tears stop. My breaths are still too quick and there's a slight tremor in my hands, but I don't care. I've settled down enough to make myself not definite Bloodbath material in the Capitol's eyes. I wonder if I'll be able to say the same for my District Partner.

"CALICO D'AMBOISE!" Alexandrius hollers, his fake golden crown wobbling on his head. I feel like I want to roll my eyes at his ridiculous costume, but my eyes are occupied at the moment with not manufacturing and releasing more tears, so I leave it be. I hear shouts and screams of protest, and my head swivels out to the crowd where I see the Peacekeepers dragging a boy out of the fourteen year old section.

"I AM CALICO D'AMBOISE! I AM MAYOR TAMMI D'AMBOISE OF BUTTON'S GRANDSON! UNHAND ME!"

I don't think I'll be able to say the same for my District Partner. Not at all.

* * *

 _Follow my lead_

 _And yes, indeed_

 _You will be..._

 _Popular!_

 _You're gonna be popular!_

 _I'll teach you the proper poise_

 _When you talk to boys_

 _Little ways to flirt and flounce_

 _I'll show you what shoes to wear_

 _How to fix your hair_

 _Everything that really counts_

 _To be popular!_

 _I'll help you be popular!_

* * *

 ** _Calico D'Amboise, 14_**

 ** _District Eight Male_**

I struggle after I make my proclamation, but it's no use. I'm a weak fourteen year old, no matter my social status, and they're two strong adult men trained to deal with spastic kids like myself in times of trouble. It doesn't matter, I don't care, I will still fight until they knock me out, because this isn't happening, this will never happen, it never has happened, it never- you know what, repeating verb tenses gets tiring. Tears are rolling down my cheeks, as big as marbles, and they feel glossy, smooth, and wet against my face. I don't register sobbing and I don't register falling still and letting the Peacekeepers lift me onto the stage. I barely manage to stand next to Gaia, still crying involuntarily. This. Cannot. Happen. I need the last day. Throw me in the slammer or blow me up or damn me to my demise in a death match between twenty three other kids _tomorrow._ Not today. Just not today!

My pudgy hands ball into fists, and they're sweating, and there's nothing I can do to stop everything that's happening around me. I don't have control any more. My body convulses and the tears keep coming and I want everything to be black and white when it's just gray. My breath is like a rattlesnake's tail when it's scared, and my pallid features are drenched with sweat. Gaia was crying before but she's stopped and she looks somewhat presentable. She looks put together and regal compared to me, although there's still tear tracts on her face and her nose is starting to run. We shake hands, and it's loose and weak and sweaty and I pull away quickly, wiping my hands on my nice dress pants. I try to wipe away the tears, but there's a limitless supply of them. One, two, three, four, leaking out no matter how tight I shut my eyes. One, two, three, four no matter how many happy things and happy times I think of. Alexandrius waves farewell to the crowd, announcing our names once more before pulling us back stage. Once we're out of the public eye he lets us out of the tight, seemingly caring embrace, snorting and strutting away like he's hot stuff. No he didn't. He did not just dis me like that. Sorry that I'm crying, I sort of am about to go die! Fucker.

The two Peacekeepers are rough as they drag me down the hall, jostling me around and making too much noise scuffing their boots against the tile and clanking their helmets around and crap like that. They shove me into my room and slam the door, and I just roll my eyes and the tears stop for a moment. I stare at the ceiling, and while the tears still wind their way down my face, they come slower. Water collects in my eyes until everything's blurry and I can't see, but I don't want to see anything any more, I don't need to. Why would I? Why would I want to see the extravagant, prissy Capitol fools and the kids who will kill me and then my own blood spraying everywhere after the gong?! The pain and the smells and the sounds will be enough. I can just gouge out my eyes, I'll be fine. Maybe if I'm blind they'll spare me. Maybe when they realize how sickly and disgusting I am they won't want me to go to the Capitol. Ah. I wish.

Mom and Grandma barrel into the room. Grandma is crying softly, and the tears come again once she's there. I hadn't realized they had ceased, but they had, and now they're back, and I almost want to be mad at my Grandma for making me cry again but I don't feel that way. I just feel rueful and lost. My mother stands near the door, and gives me a cursory hug. How could she not even care now, when I'm heading off to die?! I can't stand it any more.

"How are you being such a bitch?! You won't even kiss me anymore, Mom! I miss...I...I miss you!" Oh dammit Calico Tammin D'Amboise, real nice, that's just the way you want to come off to your mother who thinks you're a weak little punk who should go di-

"Calico, I'm so sorry," she whispers, and she begins to sob as she clings to me. Wh...what?! "I'm not that good...at emotions, I guess. With your father so sick and getting his surgery today I just haven't been able to separate my bad feelings from the good, honey. I'm so sorry. I love you so much, baby. Please try to come home to Mommy, okay Calico? Please, just try. I need you to come back. I can't lose both of my boys."

"Mom...I can't make that promise," I whisper. "I'm going to die."

Neither of them affirms my statement, but they don't object to it either. It's the honest truth, and we all know it. I could be a Uriah, I could be a Woof, but even then that's not going to work out. I've already had too much of an outburst to blend in like Uriah, and anyway his Victory was dumb luck in a time before Careers even existed. And Woof at least was really smart and crafty and pretty fast. He might've not been the most impressive but he did have some basic skills that bolstered him to Victory that I lack sadly. I'm going to die. I'm not going to let them dissuade me.

After I've hugged my mother and my grandma once more, I go to the door to welcome my friends inside. They're all going to be crying, I know it, begging me to come home and begging me to fight and begging me to not let go of hope and-

"There's no one else," the Peacekeeper grunts hoarsely. "You have two minutes."

I walk back into the goodbye, feeling dead, and I let my mother and my grandmother embrace me and support me as I cry even more, but not about the Games. I'm crying about my dad, I'm crying about the fact that all my supposed friends were just posers looking for popularity, I'm crying about how pitiful my life is and how hopeless my chances are, and I'm crying about the Games of course now because I will die and there is no way around it.

"Time to go," the Peacekeeper growls after he pulls open the door.

"Be good, Calico," Grandma whispers, kissing me on both cheeks. My mother embrace me wordlessly and kisses the top of my head before leaving with Grandma. Once they're gone, the Peacekeeper takes me by the right arm, the other by the left. I shake out of their grasp.

"I can fucking walk by myself," I hiss indignantly, wiping the tears from my eyes. They relax their arms at their sides as I walk between them. I have no intentions any longer of bolting or fighting my way free. I can't be like that any more. What's the point? I have no friends, and one third of my family is about to die. I have no chances in surviving. Why not try to be less of an asshole in my last days? Probably won't happen, 'cuz, you know, I'm Calico D'Amboise and I'm the king bee of the world and I used to have all these delusions of grandeur before they were shattered by the Reaping. Probably won't happen, 'cuz you know, people can change, but not this fast, and I've never liked change. I've never been good at it. That's just another reason why I'm going to die.

We walk out to the train platform. My last tears are wicked away when the train shoots past, gusts of wind around it nearly knocking me over. Gaia rushes up to the platform; she's a moment late. She brushes tears out of her eyes, and I bite my lip and restrain myself from making a comment. There's no need for me to make a comment, is there? No need, no need, no need. Be better, Calico. Be good, like grandma asked.

We walk into the train and into the dining car. The train starts up soon after we've sat down. Alexandrius is already pigging out on the cocktail weenies and is ignoring us, filling himself up. A sullen Uriah and a smiling Woof sit at the table as well.

"So, who gets who?" Gaia asks curiously, squeezing some book in her hands. Before Woof speaks, I cut in. I know this routine; I'm surprised Gaia doesn't know it, as it's common knowledge around the District. Or maybe she's just trying to be polite. The ones with a chance get Woof, while those without one get Uriah. They all look at me as I sigh and rest my head in my hands as I speak, staring at the tablecloth.

"I get Uriah. Gaia, you get Woof."

"And why do you think it's like that?" Uriah inquires.

"Because I'm the one who's going to die."

"You're right," Uriah chuckles. Woof slaps him on the shoulder angrily, but I don't care. I know he's right. There's no point in pretending he isn't. I'm going to die no matter what I do or say or see or hear or touch. I'm going to die no matter what anyone does. Time to tell the truth for once, so I'm going to tell it, and I'm not going to back down on it, not for one second, because I need to get over myself.

"It's fine, Mr. Parsons," I mumble, looking up at Woof. "We all already know. Now you go off with Gaia to talk real strategy and I'll spend some _lovely_ quality time with Mr. Matherton and Mr. Hamis while you two are away. Goodbye, dears!"

"Prick," Uriah coughs into his elbow, and I just chuckle. This is going to be _delightful._

* * *

 _Pink toes pressed against the carpet_

 _Show your face and finish what you started_

 _The record spins down the alley late night_

 _Be my friend, surround me like a satellite_

 _Tiger on the prowl_

 _East of Eden_

 _Coming for you now_

 _Keep me from the cages under the control_

 _Running in the dark to find East of Eden_

 _Keep me from the cages under the control_

 _Running in the dark to find East of Eden_

* * *

 ** _Gaia Imani, 15_**

 ** _District Eight Female_**

Calico's an interesting specimen. He goes from weeping uncontrollably when he was Reaped to being indignant and rude towards Alexnadrius we went backstage to however he dissolved in his goodbyes to being affirmative about his impending death to being sacrificial and sort of nice to me and Woof and deciding to stay with moody Uriah and preoccupied Alexandrius instead of tagging along with us like he could easily have. He's a strange concoction of a person, equal parts mature and immature but only one part shows at a time, so it's almost like being there with two different people.

Anyway, that reminds me of people acting differently. In my goodbye, of course my mother was a teary mess and Satin's too young to understand what was going on, but she still bawled because Mom was unhappy. But Bobbin refused to speak to me despite my mother's best efforts. He just cried into her skirt and refused to touch me or talk to me. I know he's just trying to make things hurt less for himself, but it made me start crying again when he refused to hug me and kiss me. He'd already grown up so much. He seemed like he almost jumped to the teenage phase there for a bit, being temperamental and ignorant. I patted him on the back and he jumped away from me as if I'd shocked him with a Taser. It hurt, but I'll get over it.

Woof and I sit down in a random car. I sit on a rigid wooden chair and put a pillow behind my back and I lean backwards, sighing. Woof lays down on a long tan colored couch that wraps around two walls and pulls a blanket over top of him.

"So, do you have anything you'd like to tell me before we start the strategy talks?" Woof questions.

"Um, well, I'm fifteen as you know. I'm closer to sixteen than fifteen, but that doesn't really matter."

"Yeah it does," Woof cuts in. "Someone who turns fifteen on the Reaping Day will be weaker and less experienced then they would be if they were a day away from sixteen. Sponsors and betters look at that; they look at everything. Keep going."

"Well, anyway, I'm really good with botany and I know my edible plants. I also know some other survival skills okay, but not really that well. I'll focus on those in training. I'm really good with details and I'm observant. No weapons skills unless you count a needle."

"Anything can be a weapon," Woof murmurs, staring at the ceiling. "But anyway, that's a good start, much better than a lot of kids that I get. You'll be able to live off of the wilderness if there's any vegetation, and you realize survival skills are more important for...tributes of your caliber, no offense, then weaponry skills. You're detail oriented which is a good skill to have in the Games. Anything else?"

"Oh! I don't know how to use one, but I've figured out how to make a blow pipe. I can't imagine it would be that hard to make."

"That's another good, unconventional skill. I'll be honest with you, I was scared at first that both you and Calico would be goners in the Bloodbath, but I'm happy to see that you have some skills that will be useful in the arena. How's your running?"

"Not that hot," I reply, looking at my hands absentmindedly.

"So, do we both agree you shouldn't go to the Bloodbath? You can survive off of the wilderness if you focus on finding water in training, and since you can't run very fast, going into the Bloodbath would be pure suicide and would be a dumb move. So, next important question: allies?"

"I don't know. If there's people that like me before the Games I'd consider it. If I make any friends, okay. But I wouldn't be afraid to leave them. I'm not going to get attached or anything. I'm...I'm more important than anyone else in these Games."

"Now that's the right mindset!" Woof applauds. "Now, for you angle..."

* * *

 **A/N: So here you have it! It was definitely fun to revisit Gaia and Calico, and I can't wait to develop these two more!**

 **I just wanted to talk about something. So the tribute that spurred this comment is Ivy, but this applies to all of the tributes, but I'm just going to use Ivy as an example. Every tribute gets 2 Pre-Games POVs and at least one during the Games, definitely more if they survive the Bloodbath. There's lots of room for development. For example, with Ivy, I focused on her sexism because now we can put that behind us. She was spending a day with Harlow and knew he was going to propose soon. Her whole life is that at this point. But Ivy's men problems are just with the guys back home. She has a totally different side that I cannot wait to show you guys, but I needed to wait because she's been trapped for so long in her life, and now she can start exploring who she is. Bernie won't be constantly daydreaming about cats and Zirc won't be continuously mesmerized thinking about Tomas, just like Katniss was more focused on survival than thinking about Gale or Peeta or home. I'm not trying to be harsh here, just letting you know that the tributes will be changing, and none of them will be remotely the same when they die or go home Victor. :)**

 **THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 400 PLUS REVIEWS I CANNOT EVEN TELL Y'ALL HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU! BY THE END OF THIS WE WILL HAVE NEAR 1,000 OR SOMETHING SUPER INSANE AND I'M JUST GOING TO BREAK DOWN IN TEARS OF JOY!**

 **Who did you like better here, Gaia or Calico? Have your thoughts on them changed?**

 **Calico (1 pt.): What is Alexandrius eating in the dining car?**

 **Gaia (1 pt., counting her 2 POVs as one): What weapon is Gaia considering using in the Games?**

 **Happy New Years Eve! See you in 2017! ;)**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	31. Goodbyes & Trains: Nine

**A/N: Today we're returning to the District Nine pair, Sage Alumius and Luke Saturn! Enjoy reading!**

 **Trigger warnings: one instance of profanity xD snap, I was so close to getting nothing! xD**

* * *

 _Don't let it slip through your fingertips._

 _When there's a ghost,_

 _Don't try to reason with it_

 _'Cause now I'm tired, I'm wired,_

 _So I won't miss a thing._

 _I wrote my words out to dry_

 _And I've forgotten what to sing_

 _And you can't change the world with a song_

 _And you can't make it right when it's wrong_

* * *

 ** _Sage Alumius, 15_**

 ** _District Nine Female_**

"You'll be fine, Rini!" I whisper in my sister's ear as we wait in line together. "You'll be just fine!"

It's not unusual for sibling pairs to be brought to the main Reaping. In Nine when they do the Preliminary Reapings in the big cities, they just choose a random neighborhood and all the kids there have to go to the main Reaping along with lots of underfed orphans that are apparently "expendable". Those orphans are usually the ones that get Reaped since there's just so many of them. But yeah, all my friends are here. Aluma, Wheata, Iliana, and Trish are all here, they're just with their parents or siblings or are already in the fifteen year old pen. I feel bad for Iliana; she's the oldest of us, and she just turned 16 a couple of weeks ago. She doesn't know anyone in that pen. Aluma, Wheata, Trish, and myself have a spot in the pen picked out to meet; the far left hand corner.

"I-I know, I'm just scared," my cute twelve year old sister sobs. Even when crying, she looks adorable. No wonder she got that modeling job. I bet she'll be famous when she grows up. I squeeze her hands and keep comforting her as we walk up the line.

When we reach the table, I go first and let my finger be pricked. The lady that does it does it carelessly; the Reaping is in five minutes, and she still has a line of fifty kids to get signed in. When she sees Rini, however, she pauses, and comforts her as she pricks her finger. A scared twelve year old plus being Rini Alumius equals everyone being super nice to you on your first Reaping day. This is technically my first real Reaping day. I've never left my home city of Sorghum in my life. I've been the four other Preliminary Reapings, but then they just choose a couple of orphanages and a neighborhood out of two separate glass balls, and there's no ceremony. Hell, they do the picking before we even get there, I believe, and they just make it seem like it's a "Reaping."

Since both Rini and I came, both of our parents came. Mom's Rini's chaperone, while Dad's my chaperone. I can't see them as I walk Rini to her pen but I feel like they can see me somehow. I give Rini a parting kiss on the forehead before sending her off to her pen. She runs into the arms of one of her closest friends, Mauby Kentens, and the two cling to each other as they wait for the Reaping to begin. I jog over to my pen and step inside. I fight my way over to our predetermined destination. Aluma and Trish are standing near the corner, talking animatedly. I stand next to them and listen in. The Reaping's going to start in a minute anyway, no point in butting in. At the last second, Wheata appears out of the crowd, red faced and wheezing.

"Barely made it!" she gasps, bending over to catch her breath as Mayor Listange and Escort Patrisa Ngostic prance onto the stage. I don't want to pay attention, but I do, letting their words fill up my head until it wants to explode. Why are they so annoying? Why do I have to stand here and listen to them babble?! Aluma sees my hands balling into fists and she puts her hand on my shoulder and strokes my hair with the other, calming me down.

"Shh, Sage, calm down," she murmurs in my ear.

"SAFFRONELLE ALUMIUS!" Patrisa sings.

"SAGE!" Aluma howls, and Trish and Wheata stand behind her, faces gaping in shock. I ball my hands into fists, and the anger makes me see red. Stars dance in front of my eyes and I can feel tears pooling in my eyes. A couple of them streak down my face.

"Be strong for Rini," I murmur to myself, and then I try to put on a brilliant smile. Aluma's sobbing behind me, and I quickly look back at her and I smile sadly. The smile makes me scrunch up my eyes, and contained tears pour forth. I wipe them away as I push out of the fifteen year old girl's pen. I am okay. Be like Rini. Smile for the cameras, keep your back straight, put your anger and pain behind you, walk like you mean it and try not to let all of the tears come down your face. I mount the stage and stand next to Patrisa. I don't listen as she calls the boy's name, only momentarily looking over to see the boy with brilliant white blonde hair emerge from the seventeen year old section. He seems like he has lots of muscle, as if he lives out in the villages. Then I ignore him until I have to shake his hand, trying to keep the tears at bay, and surprisingly I succeed. I hope I look brave. I hope I look less like the frightened fifteen year old girl that I am.

We walk back stage after that. I don't say a word to my District Partner or Patrisa or the Peacekeepers who stand on either side of me, gloved hands tensed and ready to grab my arms and restrain me if I freak out and try to escape or if anything else emotional happens. They must be expecting me to break down right now. They're used to dealing with younger orphan kids of twelve to fifteen usually who kick and scream until their pasty skinned faces become so drenched in tears that you can't even see their faces. I hope I looked different from the awkward weaklings Nine usually produces. I hope I'll fair different from the usual type of tributes Nine produces, or I won't even last ten minutes past the Bloodbath before someone does me in.

I walk into the goodbye room on my own after the Peacekeepers open the door. I sit down on the little bench nestled up against one of the walls of the Justice Building goodbye room. I clasp my hands together and let them rest in my lap, and I put on a confident smile when a sobbing Rini and my parents, both smiling sadly, come into the room. Rini runs into my arms, sobbing into my shoulder. She punches me weakly in the shoulder as she sobs, and I just stroke her hair, trying to calm her down. My parents stand on either side of us, and they squeeze my shoulders comfortingly.

"It's going to be okay," I whisper in Rini's ear. I don't want to be mean, but shouldn't I be the one crying and being comforted? But Rini's had a lot on her plate lately. Still, watching her weeping in my arms brings the tears back and I let a few of them spill.

I hug my parents once I've set Rini down, and then after some parting words of encouragement and devotion they're gone. Aluma, Iliana, Wheata, and Trish pour into the room, in varying states of despair. Trish is pouting and trying not to cry, and Wheata's just looks like she's stuck in a state of shock. Iliana is sobbing quietly into her hands, and Aluma is weeping, full blown hysterics, and Trish has to support her so she doesn't fall on her face and so she can actually walk forward. I fold myself in between all of them, and we stand there for what feels like forever. I'm sobbing now, because these are my friends and I'm realizing I might not ever see them again, that I might be that black spot in their history. I can just imagine Aluma having a daughter, and the little girl meeting Iliana and Wheata and Trish and loving her mother's friends, but then finding out that there's the missing one, the dead one, Sage Alumius.

"Remember me," I murmur, and they all nod and promise and spew words that I can't understand. And then they're being torn away from me, and I look up to see the Peacekeepers pulling them away. Wheata and Iliana are already gone, and Trish shakes out of the Peacekeeper's grip and marches out angrily. Aluma struggles, though, crying and spasming in the man's straining arms. She cries out as they pull her out of the door after the second Peacekeeper helps out.

"I love you, Sage!" Aluma screeches before they tug her fully out of the room and slam the door. There's sounds of a scuffle outside, and a couple of minutes later the Peacekeepers open the door, and I can tell by their body language that they are miffed. They escort me out of the goodbye room and we walk through the dimly lit halls of the Justice Building. Everything's sullen in the Justice Building, and I'm happy when we reach the back door and walk out to the train platform, nestled right behind the place I just left. The air is smoggy and chock full of pollutants, but it's better than the dank Justice Building. Luke's already standing on the train platform, looking impatient; the train is already here. Aluma's outburst must've put us behind a couple of minutes, so everyone's waiting on me. I leave behind the Peacekeepers and jog up to the platform. The Peacekeepers must think I'm trying to bolt because they take out their guns, but I just run up to the platform and wait for a moment as Luke opens the train door and gestures me inside. Time for these Games to begin in earnest.

* * *

 _A 101 vultures_

 _Dirty up the water_

 _I am not your altar boy_

 _You are not my father_

 _I don't mean to be so crass about the situation_

 _But it's easier than breaking down_

 _The reason in your loose interpretation_

 _In a sea of motherfuckers, man, you were no salvation_

 _Why'd you have to go, leave me to the vultures?_

 _Now it weighs so heavy on my soul_

 _Why'd you have to go, leave me to the vultures?_

 _It got so heavy_

* * *

 ** _Luke Saturn, 17_**

 ** _District Nine Male_**

I tap my foot impatiently against the rusted metal of the train platform, waiting for that Saffronelle girl to get here. My teeth are gritted but my mouth is closed. I know my face looks strange but I don't care. I didn't shed a tear when I sat alone in the goodbye room for the allotted amount of goodbye time. I didn't take a chaperone; the closest thing I have to family is Surter's family, and they all stayed back in Ropin to work. If they left even for two days, their income would fall enough that they wouldn't be able to feed every mouth in the pile of jogs they call a home. So yeah, I was as alone as ever. Not that I minded. I didn't cry. There's no need to. I don't even feel shocked, really. I just feels like it's a normal day, like nothing's changed from the way it has been for the past several years. I feel like I'm going to step on the train and get shuttled back to Ropin, and my sickle and my floppy straw sun hat will be waiting for me when I step off along with an eager Surter, and I'll head back out into the fields to work, and life will be as it always has. I think I'll expect to go home if I die. This just...it's not even surreal. It just feels like, "Oh look, I have the Hunger Games on my schedule! Fun! When will I get back?" I don't know. I expected to break down or something. It's registered. I realize that I'm going into a death match where I'll most likely die, yet I don't feel anything. Even I didn't think I was this emotionless, but it seems that I am.

Finally, the Saffronelle girl runs onto the platform. Her Peacekeeper escorts look wary of her sudden burst of speed, and they pull out their guns. She's just running to the train platform, however. Good. Blood doesn't particularly bother me, but I'd rather not keep the gruesome events of today going by seeing a fifteen year old girl torn to bits by bullets a couple of yards from me. The girl comes to a stop beside me, panting just a little bit, and I grab the handle to the train door and hold it open for her. She smiles graciously. She's sort of pretty, at least for a port city girl, and fit, too. Most port city kids would be wheezing up a storm after that run. Maybe she won't be a lost cause, and maybe both Nines will survive the Bloodbath. Eh, that's a long shot. Let's hope she's smart, too.

Inside the dining car of the train we find a sweetly smiling Unity Carden along with a sleepy looking Patrisa Ngostic. Our only Victor and Mentor, Unity from the 1st, looks like a real sweetheart. She's had to deal with some tough shit over the years, like never getting another Victor and killing quite a few other tributes, and also losing family and friends in the rebellion and after the Games. She must be a good Mentor, I hope. She must've just not had the proper type of tributes to have her doing well with getting tributes far or being Victors. I'd happily take over for her; wouldn't you, if you were in my position?

"Welcome Luke, Saffronelle!" Unity cheers. "Please, come sit!"

"I'd prefer Sage, if that's alright," my District Partner, apparently Sage, mutters as we sit down. Her eyes are still a little red from crying, I notice. She probably has family and friends that came to Durum just in case she was Reaped; heck, she probably lives here, and everyone she's ever spoken to before probably crowded into her goodbye room to bid her farewell. I feel just a twinge of jealousy, but it's just a twinge. Family and love are just simple weaknesses that most people have, chains that obstruct you from doing what you want or need. I'm free. None of these women are. Unity has her sisters and their families, Patrisa probably has a whole obese herd back in the Capitol, and Sage seems to have the goddarn entirety of the port cities on her side or something since it took her so long to get out here. I have no one. Surter's a good friend and a good kid and I help his family out, but I don't love him. I don't love anyone. I probably wouldn't even cry if Surter starved to death or his whole family's shabby cottage caught on flame and they all were roasted alive. I don't feel much any more, and it drives me nuts sometimes. I wish I had chains right now, I wish I had a mother and a father weeping now as I ride away from Nine forever, a group of friends sniveling and telling stories about our best times together to comfort one another, a brother and a sister telling each other that it will be alright and that I'll make it home, because they believe in me. But that's just now, because I feel so damn alone and so damn lost. In an hour, I'd probably laugh if you asked me if I wish I had a family. I think this might be the shock wearing off and the reality of what's ahead truly sinking in. I steady myself. That was emotion, wasn't it? I'm not a lost cause then. I suddenly realize I'm still standing while Sage has been sitting down for a good minute. They're all looking at me, and I clear my throat and sit down.

"Sorry, just thinking," I murmur, and jam a random appetizer from the table into my mouth. There's an explosion of sweet and sour in my mouth and I stuff a couple more of the bread pieces in my mouth, enjoying the delectable sauce smothering the bread crisps. Unity smiles warmly.

"Enjoy your food, the both of you," Unity chuckles. "However, this cannot all be fun enjoyment. I like to get down to business right away. Let's leave Ms. Ngostic to her nap and we can move to my favorite car on the entire train." Unity stands, and Sage chuckles; Patrisa has fallen asleep, and a thin trail of drool rolls out of the corner of her mouth, cutting through the layers of lilac and white makeup caked on her face and exposing her pale, creamy white skin underneath, a similar tone to mine. The three of us walk out of the car and walk a ways back until we reach the back car. Sage gasps, and the sights around us coax a small smile to my lips. The walls of the car are mostly glass, and you can see the swaying, uniform fields of golden wheat on all sides of us. Durum is just a tiny, smoggy, dark gray blotch on the horizon, and we speed past a couple of small villages. The little children run to the edge of the fields and watch with awe as the train scissors by, a bullet of silvery metal moving so fast that the kids must think that it's magic. I see the little faces, and I swear one of the kids is Surter, another his little sister Anny. Then I'm just seeing Surter's family everywhere and I smile sadly, and a tear drips out of my eye. When I feel that, everything stops. I'm...crying? I haven't cried since soon after my parents died in the stampede. I draw in a shuddering breath. The village children are long gone, and so are my tears. Unity is sitting, relaxed, on a long cream colored sofa, grinning widely. Sage is still gaping, turning around slowly so much that she must be dizzy by now, looking at the beautiful golden brown blur of a world around her. The sky seems to melt into the fields and it's almost like a living painting where the paint is wet and intermingling. Finally, Sage and I sit down after we've looked around in awe for quite some time. Sage sits on the same long couch as Unity, while I pull up a chair of the same color and fabric, though it is more rigid than the couch. I feel more perceptive now that I've had the taste of the world around me. I feel bright eyed, inspired, alive.

"Do you like what you see?" Unity inquires, smirking.

"Yes," Sage and I say at the same time, and she blushes and I smile a little again.

"Then you're going to need to win," Unity informs us, her face darkening, and I know it's time for the strategy talks to begin.

* * *

 **A/N: So there you have it! I liked exploring Sage and Luke more, and it was also nice to revisit Unity! :D**

 **Sorry if I sounded harsh about my character development thing, I totally didn't mean to! :)**

 **I noticed some people have not been reviewing as much as they used to, or at all. That's totally fine, I get it's the holiday season and I'm moving really fast, but if you don't have the time to leave in depth reviews, you can just leave a sentence or two saying, "Oh, I liked what you did with (Tribute)." Also, just stating the trivia questions does not count as a review. To get the review points for sponsorship, you have to actually critique and/or praise the work. Thanks! :)**

 **Oh yeah, speaking of sponsorship, I jacked up the weaponry prices a hella lot, sorry those of you who wanted to send in lots of grenades, but they are now 110 points I think, not 65! XD You guys can pool your points if you want I guess to buy grenades, but I wouldn't suggest it because at this point whoever gets a grenade will probably either have no clue what it is and leave it and it will never be found, or they'll accidentally pull the pin and blow themselves up! XD I also added a medical section to the sponsorship list.**

 **Who did you like better here, Sage or Luke? Have your thoughts on them changed?**

 **HAPPY 2017! This story will definitely be finished by the time I say HAPPY 2018! ;)**

 **EDIT: I FORGOT TRIVIA AGAIN GODDARNIT!**

 **Sage (1 pt.): What does Sage ask her friends to do?**

 **Luke (1 pt.): What is Surter's little sister's name?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	32. Interlude: A Interviewer

**A/N: Our third, and possibly final, interlude! We'll be meeting our interviewer, Fabula Obcubo! She's fiesty and tricky, and...sort of inspired by Harlequin Marceau from LadyCordeliaStuart's SYOTs? Maybe? I don't know! XD I hope you guys like her, she'll be sticking around for a long time. So will Ludum and the Presidential Family, although only one (maybe two, will a possible future All-Stars Games) will be sticking around for a long time. Well, I just went off on a tangent, sorry! XD I hope I wrote our probably final interlude well! Enjoy!**

 **P.S. There is a cameo from a minor character from Oceanside, and it is not Faustina or Toulouse, they're just mentioned. Whoever guesses who this person making a cameo is, if you PM the correct character to me, PM this please, I will give you an extra bonus sponsorship point! :D**

 **Trigger Warnings: Profanity**

* * *

 _So, have another drink_

 _Have another drink, call me_

 _If this is what it takes_

 _If it's what it takes, baby_

 _Dream another dream_

 _Because you're killing it, honey_

 _This is what we do to get by_

 _We're always chasing that paradise_

 _Paradise, paradise, paradise_

 _There's a place we try to reach_

 _Impossible as it would seem_

 _I heard you crying out in your sleep_

 _I see that look you save for me_

 _I pull you back upon your feet_

 _I know you always need something more, more_

* * *

 ** _Fabula Obcubo, 35_**

 ** _Capitol Resident_**

 ** _Interviewer and Host of the Hunger Games_**

These sorts of interviews aren't fun. They're not the real show, the grand show, with the big lights and the big glitz and the big reveals and the big hype. They're the piddly interviews with past Victors and plastic Capitol celebrities and chubby Capitol politicians that I do to make a living on the off season. At least the ones with the Victors, like the one I'm preparing to do, are bearable. They're just repetitive and boring, you ask each Victor the same questions every time. They get a set of around a dozen questions tailor made to them, and every year or whenever they're interviewed, they're just reworded so the thick Capitol audience doesn't catch onto our ruse of using the same content over and over again. The celebrities are stiff and made of chemicals, plastic and synthetics stitched together on top of a human core. At least they're funny sometimes, and even though they're one hundred percent fake, they're usually really attractive. The politicians are the worst. They waddle onto the stage in the studio, oversized stomachs, which almost all of them have, barely held in by their formal attire. They babble about policies and laws and tariffs and economics, and while I have degrees in economics and communication, they're just so dull, and I'm just a prop. I rarely even ask questions, I just invite them onto my stage and watch as they grunt in recognition, sitting down. Then they run their mouths talking about campaigns and other political lingo, and then they wave goodbye and pretend they like the people and the crowds. I'm no rebel, but I do harbor some disdain for the Capitol. The Victors are my friends. I see them all yearly, usually four to six times a year, when I interview them. There's lots of down time in between filmings, and the Victors from each District usually travel together. Sitting down with the rowdy crowd from Four is always a treat, seriously, with Oisin being grumbly and drinking scotch, Waverley running her mouth and being bossy and bitchy, and Mags trying to hold everything together and then exploding at the two of them. Two's fun as well. They might not need the drink, but they know how to pound alcohol, and the Headmistress can tell dirty jokes like no one else when she's isn't all high and mighty with her panties in a twist. Today I'm talking with Lucia Theonis, the latest Victor of the Hunger Games, having won last year, the Twenty First Annual Hunger Games. Serephina and Scylas and Clay are back in Two at the Academy, and Brick came here to flex his muscles for some Capitol prostitutes and give them the night of their lives. I'll be interviewing him tomorrow. At least the end is near; the Reapings are in two weeks, and after that the Games begin.

We have a bit of downtime before the interview. The setting for the studio interview stage is always the same; dark blue backdrop with an iridescent gloss behind us, two dark brown leather chairs with rigid backs but lots of fluff in the cushions, pretty comfortable, reclined back just a tad, and a small teak table with a smaller aloe vera plant in a light cream vase with a jagged pattern on it. The lighting is being set up, and the lights revolve around and flash across our faces. Lucia flinches a bit; she's still inexperienced in what must be a brave new world for her, and while she was tougher than Brick in the arena, outside of it, with all the adrenaline gone, she seems to be as effected and as hollow as Clay. Once the lights have stalled and they're fiddling with their cameras, we can finally talk without being interrupted by the stage lights shining bright and loud right in our faces. I turn to her and put on my most friendly smile.

"So, nervous for your first Games shadowing as a Mentor?" I ask, sipping from a glass of water that's sitting on the teak table under the cover of the aloe plant. Lucia looks flustered for a moment, and she glances over at the cameras, confused.

"The interview's not starting, right?"

"No, honey, just talking to you," I say with a pleasant smile, trying to keep my voice even and friendly. I guess I let a little prickle slip through, however, because Lucia bites her lip and looks a little embarrassed. She's so skittish for a Two Victor. "When the red light turns on on the cameras, that's when the interview is starting. I know, it's hard to remember, all of these little intricacies. I would be a sucky Victor with all the stuff I'd have to do!" Just trying to make her feel better, but she doesn't buy it. I'm great at public speaking and manipulating, at making tributes that weigh sixty pounds and haven't eaten an actual meal before they reached the Capitol look like able tributes that are a good bet to sponsor. I'm Snow's favorite interviewer yet; Faustina was too nice and too...unreliable and too...unrealistic in her political opinions and ideals. Even in my mind, I have to be guarded about how I say things. Also, Toulouse was too preoccupied with his affairs and his wealth to actually be immersed in the interviewing process, the hosting, and the Games as a whole.

"Okay, got it," she murmurs. "Being onstage and stuff always flusters me, it's my weak spot. They almost didn't pick me because of my stage fright. That would've been a disaster, Adom or Bastian would've destroyed the other girl who might've gone in, Horadia, she was so thin and willowy even though she was really pretty and really good with bows and spears and was good at public speaking, they would've snapped her like a twig. Umm, Fabula? What's happening? Why is the light flickering? Oh right. That means that the producers are ready, and the interview is about to start getting tap-"

"FIVE. FOUR. THREE. TWO. ONE," the director, Crux, shouts. I snap upright, putting on my sugar sweet smile. Lucia almost seems shocked by how quick I go from lounging back in my chair, eyes half open as I talk in a relaxed fashion, to prim and proper, sitting straight up in my chair, a so-good-it-has-to-be-fake smile glittering on my face, my signature glossy hot pink pantsuit gleaming in the light. The camera swivels around and centers on us, and the interview begins. Lucia looks paralyzed before the camera reaches her, but by the moment the lens focuses in on us, she's put on a wavering, half confident smile. She looks resplendent in her pastel green dress, which contrasts nicely against her darker brown skin, but doesn't clash really.

"So, Lucia, how is your talent of metal working going?" I inquire. Last time, I asked _Isn't your official metal working hobby going well?_

"It's going well, I have holes in all of my clothes from the sparks, but I surely have made some really great pieces like weapons and cutlery, as well as some abstract sculptures! It's a really fun past time, Fabula," Lucia tells me. Last time she said _It's really fun to do, Fabula! I've been making lots of cool stuff; Clay and I ate dinner last week with knives and forks I made! My clothes are ruined, but oh well. I can get more, that's the beauty of being a Victor!_ I remember every moment of every single on of my interviews. It's weird. I'm pretty forgetful in day to day life, but when the lights focus on me and the cameras are whirring to life and an audience, have it be a half dozen producers and cameramen, or the half million Capitolites that pack into the massive auditorium for the Hunger Games interviews, are whispering, waiting for the show to start, something clicks in my head. Every single moment, every single word, every single breath, every single hair out of place on the head of someone I'm interviewing, every emotion glittering in their usually augmented eyes, it's all stored in my head. It's the strangest thing. I've never told anyone about it, but why would I? My mother died in the rebellion, my father's a fat pig of a politician who's power hungry and hasn't spoken to me in two years even though I have one of the most auspicious jobs I could ever have and have made him extremely proud, and my older brother Marcus Jr. is a deadbeat drunk who works as a sloppy Peacekeeper all the way in Twelve. After my first visit, where I found him passed out in the Justice Building, a half full bottle of vodka in hand and too much money bursting from his pockets, I haven't gone back. I'm bisexual and I am always looking for perfect guy or girl, but everyone I meet, they're just posers trying to clamber up the social ladder, grasping at me since I'm one of the top rungs, and a relationship with little ole gullible, hopelessly romantic me means skipping the hard work of climbing up the twenty something rungs below me. Sometimes I think I should stop interviewing, but it's my life. I don't know who I am without it. I'm not Fabula Obcubo, the daughter. I'm not Fabula Obcubo, the sister. I'm not Fabula Obcubo, the lover. I'm not even Fabula Obcubo, the woman.

I'm Fabula Obucbo, the interviewer. That's never going to change.

* * *

 **A/N: I hope you enjoyed reading about Fabula! This was a tiny bit short, but I found a good place to stop a bit earlier than I planned, so I just stopped writing instead of dragging my point on and on XD She was a joy to bring to life, she's that type of character I just love to play around with, and I hoped she was a fun read and she wasn't boring or anything! :) I was also going to add the person who does the parades, Nuntius Calpor, but decided against it; the chapter would've been enormous if I had done him as well. All you need to know about him is he's a fashionista with a terrible sense of humor! Like, so bad it's not even humor, it's literal mental and emotional torture! Poor Panem XD**

 **So this is where our super fast updates will most likely slow down. School starts for me again tomorrow, and midterms are in mid to late January for me, so I need to get studying! Track doesn't start till around March, though, so I should be able to get 2-4 updates a week hopefully, maybe even more. I also have just been only writing for this story at this point, so I'll also be spending time updating 500YOP and Big Brother: Bite Size instead of only working on this story, but this story is and will always be my first priority until it's finished so it will receive the most updates out of all of my stories currently, lucky you!**

 **So I don't know why I'm going to tell you this now. I think it's because I've mapped out how these Games will go and have put the stamp on it. Yeah, I think I have it all planned out! XD Well, actually I have 2 possible scenarios and 2 possible Victors right now. Not revealing ANYTHING about those plans or Victors, I'm not a spoilsport, but I'm just telling you that the decision has been made. I'm going to say this part a million times before the Games start, so I might as well start saying it now. If your tribute dies early, I'm sorry. You might not review at all, and your tribute makes the Top 8, or you might be a loyal reviewer, and your tribute gets cut at the Bloodbath. I do take reviews into a bit of consideration when I decided the placements, but for placements I mostly just looked at the characters, and what's most beneficial for the plot. I'd hope the Victor isn't one whose submitter has never reviewed or rarely does so, but just because your tribute might breathe their last breath super early isn't because I hate you or because I hate your tribute. It's just their time to go, as they might not be beneficial to the main plot(s) of the story or it might be best for their arc or fellow characters' arcs if they perish early. This is really early and I don't need to tell you guys this yet, hell, we still have like 3 goodbye chapters, and then way too many Pre-Games chapters, but I'm still telling you. Keep this in mind as we continue. Thank you :)  
**

 **Again, thanks for all the reviews and support! You're all the best! :D**

 **I THINK WE HIT 100,000 WORDS HOLY GOODNESS YAY! :D**

 **What did you think of Fabula? Do you think Fabula will effect the tributes and their chances in the Games? Do you think Fabula will become wrapped up in the new Capitol subplot, originating with the Gamemakers? We'll see! :D**

 **Fabula (1 pt.) - Which District is Fabula's brother Marcus a Peacekeeper in?**

 **Answers to the previous chapters:**

 **Ivy - Trunk Cathsby**

 **Baron - Hope is eternal**

 **Calico - cocktail weenies (they're little sausages/hot dogs xD)**

 **Gaia - Blowpipe, not needle**

 **Sage - Remember her**

 **Luke - Anny**

 **Thanks everyone! Love y'all! :D**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	33. Goodbyes & Trains: Ten

**A/N: Just two more Goodbye & Train chapters left after this one! :D We're revisiting the pastures of District Ten today, and we'll be learning more about Ms. Miriam Park and Mr. Rufus Braunvieh! :) Enjoy reading!**

 **P.S. Miriam's is really, REALLY long because I pretty much accidentally wrote a whole Reaping AND a whole goodbye for her! Oops! XD I got caught up in writing her, but since most of you like her I'm guessing you guys won't mind my mess up xD**

 **This is like insanely long, like 800 more words than the longest G &T chapter. I'm sorry XD**

 **Trigger warnings: Profanity**

* * *

 _Give up the Ghosts._

 _They know not of love,_

 _the fragments of a memory that love knows not of._

 _Give up the Ghosts._

 _They know not of love._

 _I've been dancing alone all this time._

 _Give it up._

 _Give up the Ghosts._

 _Give up the Ghosts._

 _Give up the Ghosts._

 _Give up the Ghosts._

 _Yeah, the stress is coming out the walls_

 _and down the halls,_

 _through the chambers of this heart._

 _Fill the empty with the sands of time_

 _and leave it all behind._

* * *

 ** _Miriam Park, 13_**

 ** _District 10 Female_**

The wheelchair clatters against the cobbles behind me. I walk a few paces ahead of my parents, holding my head high and sending anyone who looks my way, well, away, with a determined glare. I almost clear a small path in the sea of churning kids and parents heading towards the center of our District's capital, Pronge, for the main Reaping. When I got selected in the Preliminary, I just walked onto the stage. No hysterics, no shaking hands, no barely held in tears, no rattling breaths. Prelim Reapings aren't anything. Sure, when you sit down and think about it they are, but in the moment they're just another celebration that happens in Latticeville. There's a parade and a carnival and everything, it's one of the biggest ceremonies in town, and I got to ride on a huge float in the parade with our town's male representative, the harrowingly shy-around-girls-even-if-they're-only-thirteen sixteen year old Chapton Scudd. Uh. Chapton. My _bestie._

We drove with Chapton and his guardian, his unmarried Aunt Lorraine Reeves, to Pronge in their pickup since Dad's is still broken. We sneaked in Mom with us in her wheelchair; we don't have enough money for a sitter to watch her in case something goes wrong while Dad and I are away, and our only family, Uncle Jimmy, died a few years back from liver disease from drinking too much, in which he sapped our family funds, in turn eliminating the chance of curing Mom and getting a sitter to stay with her. It's all connected, see? So yeah. She came with us, and I can't say I'm sad about it.

No one said anything when they saw my mother, a pale scrap of a woman, curled in the wheelchair as my father, Chapton, his aunt, and myself stepped out of the pickup and got signed it at the city gates. They put huge fences around Pronge and Marrow after a stampede of a good hundred steers swept through Marrow a decade back and plowed through a good two dozen people and killed them. It also limits travel of those who live in the city, keeping people pent up to work in the huge slaughterhouse and meat packaging plants, much more polluted and cramped and unethical than the ones out near Latticeville where my father works and where I will probably end up working in the future. But yeah, anyway, my Mom came along. Chapton and his aunt are already at the square, having left early this morning. It took a while to get myself and Mom dressed and ready to go, so we're getting in a little later than Chapton

"Miriam. Slow down," my Dad barks. I'm now about ten yards in front of them, too far, having been walking faster and faster as I got caught up in sort of nervous thoughts. My Mom's been lulled to sleep by the murmur of the crowd and the warm summer air, and her head lolls to one side as she slumbers quietly. I fall back and stand next to my father. We pause for a moment, the crowd flowing fluidly around us like a body of running water, before moving forward. One of Dad's hands holds mine, and I feel like a little girl, but I don't care. At least I'm with him, I rarely get to see him, so I'll take every moment I can to be with him and Mom. His other hand is on the handles of the wheelchair, pushing Mom forward in her wheelchair, gripping it tightly.

Soon enough, too soon, we're at the square. Dad kisses me on the forehead, and Mom wakes up. Her papery white skin crinkles as she smiles weakly, and I pat her on the shoulder awkwardly, unable to do anything else really without hindering her or paining her. Then I break away from them, and as I wait in line to get my finger pricked so I can go to my pen, I watch them fade away into the crowd to stand with the other parents and guardians waiting for the Reaping to be over so they can take their son or daughter home and so they can get back to working and to the rest of their family.

Soon enough, I'm in the thirteen year old girl pen. I just stand there alone and let the other girls talk and flock and find random strangers to comfort them. I don't get how other girls do this, fawning over one another and talking in too-high voices and gossiping and twirling their dyed hair. I've never been that type of girl, and I don't think I ever could be.

My head snaps up as Oxen sits down and waves to the crowd, eliciting a good amounts of whistles and cheers. Unlike lots of Outlier Victors (pretty much all of them except Calla, the pair from Seven, and Unity), Oxen played hard and had possibly the "best" Games in history in Capitol eyes. He was ruthless and bloodthirsty and had no morals or limits in the Games, but he's a recluse after the Games. There's rumors he can't sleep without a night light, but I don't buy it. No way that huge guy is afraid of the _dark_ like a toddler. The Mayor, whose name I have no clue of, and our Escort, the unforgettable Fixtata Discos, walk onto the stage. After a speech from Mr. Mayor Anonymous, Fixtata shows the video, but I'm just distracted by her disco ball outfit, as I've never seen it in person. I'm not into the glitter-and-bejewel-everything trend some girls in my grade are hooked on, but the thousands of sparkling mirrors that make up her round outfit are rather mesmerizing, I must admit. It's almost hypnotic, like a watch on a chain, a pendulum, swinging evenly between my eyes. It's so calming, almost.

"MIRIAM PARK!" Fixtata shouts. I hear an agonized moan from my parent section, and I see the shocked face of my father and my mother doing the only thing she can, groaning out guttural animalistic sounds to show her fear and displeasure. Sweat breaks out on my forehead as I push through the sea of thirteen year old out into the cobblestone aisle leading to the stand. I narrow my eyes, trying to look tough, as my hands start to tremble. I clench my jaw and I glare at the wooden slats of the stage as I march down the aisle and up the stairs. I stand next to Fixtata and tip my chin up a little. I think I'm probably the toughest looking thirteen year old tribute Reaped yet. Ha. Probably not. My hands are tremoring visibly and I can feel the sickly sheen of sweat on my forehead. My age just eliminates me already, doesn't it? Oh damn. It's the Games. It's a Reaping. My name just got chosen. I'm going into the _arena_ for Snow's sake.

I expect to see the grim reaper floating on the edges of my vision or to feel eternal despair, but I don't, at least not yet. Fixtata chooses the male tribute, some seventeen year old guy named Rufus Braunvieh. A few tears are dripping down his face but he keeps his composure well enough compared to most tributes that get Reaped out of Ten. The fifteen year old boy last year was kicking and screaming so much that they has to tranquilize him.

Everything is like it's in fast forward. I'm shaking Rufus's hand cartoonishly fast as Fixtata spews, "TENYOURTRIBUTESTHISYEARMIRIAMPARKANDRUFUSBRAUNVIEH!" Then she's leading us backstage into the Justice Building, a soft, pudgy hand on each of our backs, softly guiding us forward. Once the crowd is fully gone and the Justice Building doors snap shut, in about a second in this fast forwarded version of my life, two Peacekeepers swiftly grab my arms and our feet are a flurry of motion as we speed down the sleek hallways and the door snaps open to the goodbye room. I race over to my bench, and the moment my bottom touches the cold wood everything slows back down. The door clicks closed, and I take a deep breath. It opens moments later.

Dad, pushing Mom in her wheelchair, is sobbing so hard I don't know how he managed to get here without tipping her and falling onto his face. The explanation enters the room behind them as Dad, and, as a result, Mom, rush at me. Chapton and his aunt walk in quietly and stand respectfully in the corner, looking at their feet. Chapton is shaking, and his aunt pats him on the shoulder. What's wrong with him? Is he crying?

As Dad embraces me and Mom grunts to be pulled closer so she can do the same, Chapton suddenly bursts out, "It's so unfair! You're just a normal girl, Miriam! Why do you have to die?! Why does anyone have to die?! Auntie, why?!" Chapton dissolves into further hysterics, and his aunt pulls him close.

"Good luck, Miriam," she says with a tight smile before stepping out of the room, shushing Chapton's whimpers. Then it's just my parents and I, and I dig my chin into my father's shoulder as he squeezes me so tight he must be compacting my internal abdominal organs. I look over his shoulder into Mom's eyes, and when Dad pulls away, I gingerly kneel next to her wheelchair and hook my arms around her neck and nuzzle my head against her cheek softly. Mom just weeps quietly, shaking her head slowly, trying to suppress herself from hurting herself from shaking so hard. I stroke her hair and stand up.

"Kenneth!" my mother sobs through her tears and the snot running from her nose. "We...what if she dies? What if I die, too? What if you're all alone?!"

The thought occurs to me for the first time now that my mother's said something, and the sad smile on my face fades, replaced with a slack, dead expression. My father, all alone, with a dead wife and a dead daughter and a dead brother and dead parents and dead aunts and uncles and dead friends and dead animals he slaughters in the slaughterhouse, everyone and everything around him dead and long gone, decaying and fading from his head. I wrap myself around him and cry for the first time, not for me or for Mom, but for him. I squeeze him until he can't breathe, whimpering over and over, "Daddy, I'm so sorry."

"Hey, hey, honey, calm down," my father murmurs. "You know we don't hide things from you. Yeah, sure, winning will be tough and you might not be able to do it. That's okay. We're grown people, we can take care of ourselves. But just think about this: if you win, you survive, and we can get treatment for Mom, and she can live, Miri. Maybe this isn't an entirely bad thing. Be an optimist. Remember us, and win it all my big girl."

My mom shakes her head vigorously in agreement, and then winces. Everything in her body aches these days. She might not last the month I'll be in the Capitol and the arena. I hope she does. I hug them and then the Peacekeepers are ushering them out. I set my jaw, clenching it tight, and I shoot dirty glares at the Peacekeepers as they escort me out to the train platform after my parents are gone. I have a long time ahead of me, but I need to make it quick, as quick as possible. I need to get back soon, very soon, to save my mother. I need to get back soon, very soon, for my own sake as well. I don't like to be selfish, but I am. Imagine. The thirteen year old girl Victor who got out of the arena in record time. Well, not record time, there's no way I'm beating Brick's handful of days in the arena, but everyone knows what I mean. I'll get home, save my mother, be the grand hero in the fairy tales that I've begun to question as of late. Then again, I could also be the villain. I can just see it. The thirteen year old girl who slaughtered half a dozen mercilessly.

I try to put on a smile as I step onto the train platform where Rufus is waiting, and surprisingly enough a smile comes too easily. When I stop smiling, it's not because I'm disgusted with the Games and my probable death and the Capitol. I'm disgusted with myself.

* * *

 _So we burst into colors, colors and carousels,_

 _Fall head first like paper planes and playground games_

 _Next thing we're touching_

 _You look at me it's like you hit me with lightning_

 _Ah_

 _Oh, everybody's starry-eyed_

 _And everybody glows_

 _Oh, everybody's starry-eyed_

 _And my body goes_

 _Whoa oh oh ah ah_

 _Whoa oh oh ah ah_

 _Whoa oh oh_

* * *

 ** _Rufus Braunvieh, 17_**

 ** _District Ten Male_**

The train is like a song as it comes to a stop. I've only seen a couple of them over my years, crisscrossing on the borders of my grandparents' many properties or stopping near the slaughterhouses to refuel. Still, it amazes me how the machine works, and I love its sounds. I want to learn about how all of them work. The squeal of the brakes, the grating of metal against metal, the rumble of the engines, the hiss of steam. My District partner, Miriam, looks half impressed and half mean, a strange combination. Her mouth is smiling softly, although it's wavering, but her eyes are steely, cold, and determined. She's not weeping like most thirteen year old girls in her position would be, so at least she has that going for her. She almost looks like she's ready to kill someone. I don't want to think about doing anything of that sort yet. Not that it makes me squeamish or anything, but...I don't need to start that yet. I'll give myself the next minute of waiting on the platform for the train to be ready for us to enter as innocent and clean, with thoughts of murder and blood out of my head completely.

I don't even get five seconds before Miriam yanks open the door and strides inside, forcing me to follow her out of plain common etiquette. Everyone knows that, it's just natural. She closes the door once I'm inside, and we walk over to the table where Fixtata, still in her huge disco ball costume, and Oxen, eyes dark and stormy, looking at the shadowy corner of the train car, sit. Miriam and I sit down next to each other, and Fixtata and Oxen both perk up.

"Welcome, welcome!" Fixtata bursts happily, giggling. She adjusts in her seat and both Miriam and I wince; the thousands of glittering mirrors on her outfit are now blinding us in the eyes as the sunlight from outside, streaming through the window, glances off of her reflective costume and comes right at us. She snickers and apologizes, rearranging herself and her costume so we can see again. Miriam sighs in relief.

"Thanks, madam," I say curtly, smiling graciously.

Fixtata dissolves into more high pitched snickers, and I furrow my brow confused. Miriam's looking at me with one eyebrow raised, and Oxen's eyes have become drawn back to whatever is so fascinating about the darkened corner of the train car where the lights do not fully illuminate it.

"Did I do something wrong?" I inquire sheepishly.

"You don't have to be so...respectful and...uptight, dear!" Fixtata cackles.

"I'm sorry, it's just how I was raised."

"Isn't your name Braunvieh?" Oxen speaks up, his gravelly voice coming out quiet and husky. I can barely understand his words, and it takes a moment until I figure out what he's saying. I sigh, and nod my head slowly, then looking down at my napkin. "So you're rich? Is that why you're too polite?"

"No," I hiss, and I stand up, the chair squealing out behind me. All three of them look at me, surprised. "Don't...don't assume things about me. I'm heading off to a fucking death match, and I don't want to hear people telling me I'm snobby and too rich just because that's my last name!"

"So you're not related to Marjorie and Edward Braunvieh?" Miriam mumbles. "Even I've heard of them, and I live...seventy miles away? Latticeville is seventy miles away from where they are, isn't it? Yeah, I wish I had riches like that, I could do anything and I would use that money to-"

"Just because I'm related to those stuck up sons of bitches doesn't mean I want to be one of them or that I'm like all of them or that I can have anything I want. If anything, the thing I really want is to not be one of them, to not be considered just a snob. I'm just polite because they made me that way. I-I'm, I'm going to go have a look around." My head feels like its about to burst. Oxen looks sad and sorry, that's nice, and Fixtata is chewing her lip and looking like she wants to say something, but she doesn't. The worst one is Miriam. She stares at me with dead eyes, and then she just shakes her head and looks away. A thirteen year old, looking at me with _pity._ I should be the one shaking my head at her. I clench my fists.

I walk away, trying to steady myself and be calm, keeping my composure. Once I'm out of the room however, and the door snaps shut behind me, I pick up a lamp and smash it against the wall and watch as the glass and crystal shards spray through the air like water droplets. For one moment they sing through the air, and then they crash down. I drop the metal pole which the light bulb and the crystalline lamp shade one sat on, and I pick a few tiny slivers of glass and crystal out of my arms. Little streams of blood bubble up and curl down my forearms, but I just wipe them on my pants. I stand there for a moment, take a deep breath, and then I tentatively and carefully gather the dozens upon dozens of shards in a small pile. I cut open my palms, but I don't really care. Once the pile is all tidied up, I stand up and find that I feel just a little better. I look around the room and see the gleaming crystal sconces spewing warm honey colored light and several other crystalline lamps on tables like the one I've just obliterated. I walk forward, almost in a trance, looking at the ornate crown moldings and the plush chaise lounges and fluffy recliners and puffy pillows and sleek couches that wrap around entire walls. I walk into the next car. There's huge windows, and I see pastures swirling past, dotted with steer in varying shades and combinations of brown, white, and black mostly. Ranches, barns, and farmhouses dot the white picket fence landscape of slight rolling hills and vast, flat plains of dirty brown and green grass. There's mud patches and long stretches of plain, unfertile dirt, and everything's dusty and bloody and blemished behind the doors and fences, not the perfect little farming community they'd have you believe exists in Ten. We might be one of the richer Outer Districts overall, but that's because of families like mine and the suburbs like Latticeville where Miriam lives. The other seventy-ish percent of people in our District are dirt poor and destitute like my mother was before she married into the Braunvieh family, and soon we're leaving behind the nicer farms. The fences are rickety and peeling, the grass yellowing, the buildings sagging or too small or abandoned and decaying, the animals and workers scraggly and sickly looking. The skies don't darken or anything ominous, but the bright blue, near cloudless sky looks off above this dying world.

I feel a strong hand on my shoulder, and I turn to see Oxen standing behind me. I'm a decent height, but he stills towers over me at his impressive six foot six or whatever it is, it's probably taller than that. His olive skinned face creases as he smiles delicately at me.

"Please come back to the table. I know it's a volatile time, I get it, I was rough and tumble on my train ride too and I didn't want to talk to anyone. But my Mentor, Tassel, she came down and sat with me and we talked strategy, and if I didn't have that talk I wouldn't be here today. I want to help you and Miriam, you two both seem really capable from what I've seen of you guys, a pretty tearless Reaping." His voice fades to a whisper as he murmurs. "Please. Come back to the table, Rufus. We'd really love...love to have your...you company..." He trails off, and I look behind me to see what he's staring at, distracted by. He's looking at the corner where I've smashed the lamp to pieces. It's not engulfed in darkness. His eyes are wide open and...scared?

"An Avox can clean it up. I'm sorry," I murmur.

"No, it's not that...it's just...so dark."

"Um. Okay. Back to the table?"

Oxen starts, straightening and smiling weakly again. "Yes, yes, back to the table, follow me please, follow me, time to talk strategy!"

* * *

 **A/N: Yay! That was District Ten. I had a blast writing these two again! :D I also really liked playing around with Oxen XD He, Serephina, and Unity are probably my favorite Mentors though I enjoy writing all of them since I did create them to be easy for me to write for xD**

 **The point I meant to get across with the Games being planned out is that I just wanted you guys to know this is about characters, not submitters, and just because you don't review all the time doesn't mean your tribute won't make it past the Bloodbath. I love all of you who review so much, by the way. But anyway, I just went overboard. Yes I do have two Victors in mind, but that could easily change, and I also have a couple of plausible plans for the Games, but nothing is set in stone at all. I just wanted to set out a starter for myself just so I'm not going in totally clueless like I did with Oceanside. I have a couple of plot and arena events that I really want to happen so those are probably going to happen, but that doesn't mean they have to or will. Also, my Victor might not be either of those two. We'll see. You sponsorships aren't useless. I just went overboard and didn't state what I wanted to say clearly/correctly, sorry. I was half asleep at the end of that chapter honestly XD**

 **Who did you like better here, Miriam or Rufus? Have your thoughts on them changed?**

 **Miriam (1 pt.): What is her Preliminary Reaping Partner's name?**

 **Rufus (1 pt.): What does Rufus destroy?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	34. Goodbyes & Trains: Eleven

**A/N: Aah! MIDTERMS! Yeah it's only been around a week since the last update, but to me that's quite a bit on this story's update schedule XD I am going to churn out Twelve ASAP, and then I'm going to work on my other stories for a little bit before plunging back into the Pre-Games with the parade. Just an FYI. :)**

 **Today we're back with Omri Plower and Soya Chaffer! Enjoy! :D**

 **Trigger Warnings: Profanity**

* * *

 _I don't know my name_

 _I don't play by the rules of the game_

 _So you say I'm just trying_

 _Just trying_

 _I went from bland and popular_

 _To joining the marching band_

 _I made the closest friends_

 _I'll ever have in my lifetime_

 _I am lost trying to get found_

 _In an ocean of people_

 _Please don't ask me any questions_

 _There won't be a valid answer_

 _I'll just say that..._

* * *

 ** _Omri Plower, 18_**

 ** _District Eleven Male_**

The ninety five degree weather, probably worse now that the sun has reached its zenith in the startlingly blue, cloudless sky, makes the air buzz incessantly. The pen I'm packed in with hundreds of other eighteen year old guys stinks of perspiration, and everyone keeps fidgeting and sighing, no one talking to each other like the younger kids do in their pens. My throat feels dry, and for a moment I regret volunteering back home in our little, obsolete farming town, Alahee. My heart beats so fast, but I slow it down by thinking off being the Homecoming King, standing on the stage in front of the around fifty highschoolers in Alahee with Lidia. She was smiling, her face warm and golden, and she looked prettier than I'd ever imagined. I'd almost wanted to kiss her just in case I died from happiness as everyone stared at me, the plastic gold crown perched atop my head, the lights all focused on me. I felt so damn vain and greedy, but it felt so damn good.

The Mayor and Escort Phemia Empire strut out, with the Mayor giving a speech I ignore, instead studying the sullen boys around me. My eyes are locked on a lightskinned kid standing in front of me; there aren't many kids like him here in Eleven. His skin is reddish with some sort of rash, but he doesn't really seem to matter although it looks really painful. It's sunburn, I'm guessing, I get it too, but on white kids it just looks so much worse.

The air and my mind's strange focus is shattered as Phemia cries, "SOYA CHAFFER!" Speaking of white kids, a pasty girl stumbles out of the seventeen year old section, visibly shaking as she sobs. She starts hyperventilating as she takes the stage, and she's mumbling something I can't hear at first, but then she shouts into the microphone, brightening, "Something bad already happened to me; that means I am going to be Victor!" Phemia claps like a maniac and I just stare at her, trying not to gape. I feel bad. Whenever tributes with mental disorders get Reaped, it's always so pitiful. I wonder if she'll make it past the Bloodbath. Maybe, if she plays it smart and decides to not go into the Bloodbath. At least she seems pretty leanly muscled, and insanely optimistic.

Phemia dances over to male's bowl, her hand swirling around in the glass ball holding thousands of tiny white paper slips, looking like the little snowflakes I've heard myths about that fall in the colder places like Seven, Nine, Two, One, Six, and the Capitol during the drier season. Her fingers pinch one of the slips towards the bottom of the bowl, and she snaps it out, and opens it, shouting, "OMRI PLOWER!"

I'm frozen in shock, and my eyes are wide open, my mouth gaping. I can hear the chuckles of the front row kids back home. It's karma, isn't it? I broke tradition, volunteered when I wasn't supposed to back in Alahee. I stepped out of my social rank, I stepped out of my position, and my stupid, futile, immature machinations to gain "popularity" have landed me in a death match. I hate myself so much, but I shove that deep down. I need to put on a good face. Time to act once again, Omri. Show that you deserve this attention of the nation. Show that you deserve their money and their adoration. Show that you can win.

I still feel shaky and shocked and I know I'm still half gaping, but by the time I stumble onto the stage, I manage to collect myself and set my mouth into a hard, firm, flat line. I stand up straight, looking down on the swells of thousands of relieved kids who've avoided the Hunger Games for another year. They start to chatter quietly about, "Oh, poor girl" and "Maybe that guy has a chance" and other useless comments as Phemia announces our names so brightly I squint to block out the light. Her marble sculpture outfit looks so unnatural; she looks like a statue come to life, and she just makes the whole experience so much more surreal. I try to smile best I can as Phemia motions for us to follow her backstage, and I follow, Soya darting ahead of me.

"Sorry you're probably going to die, I was just doing my job!" Phemia giggles as she leads us backstage. I wrinkle my nose in disgust, but Soya just nods along absentmindedly, picking at her fingernails like she's going into the Justice Building, escorted by an animated statue and a a quartet of Peacekeepers, for some _normal_ reason. I have a feeling this isn't going to be very easy, getting along with her.

"I'm not going to die, Ms. Empire!" Soya mutters, grinning widely. "Don't worry about me, don't worry about me..."

I hope it's just the shock, and she's really not that blissfully naive and optimistic. That'd just be unfortunate.

The Peacekeepers peel me away from them, and we walk down a different hallway while Phemia heads straight, presumably towards the train, and Soya goes left, disappearing down the bright hallway, her body blocked by the two Peacekeepers. My two guards open the door to a nearby room, outfitted with a simple oaken bench that creaks when I sit down and a grimy circular window from which a little bit of the outside light streams in. The Peacekeepers ease the door closed, and I sit there in awkward silence for a moment, breathing in the musty air of the room. They must only open the door on this day. It's all dusty and cold, and cobwebs connect the ceiling to the walls. I feel like if I breathed too hard, the entire room would crumble like it's made of sand.

The door squeaks open, and my mother is standing there with Lidia slouching behind her. My mother walks almost mechanically into the room, and I can see her eyes glistening with unshed tears. For the sakes of the both of us, she doesn't cry, thank Snow almighty. We don't hug too tight, we just embrace loosely for a good minute until she splits from me, sucking in a raspy breath. I take a deep breath and squeeze her hand.

"Do well, Omri," she murmurs, kissing my forehead. "I'm sorry, son." Then she's gone with the wind, and Lidia stands there awkwardly, staring at her toes self consciously. Her dark brown hair is curled and glossy, and her warm brown skin is smooth and beautiful. Her dark brown eyes look up at me, and she looks like she wants to say something, she tries several times, but the words get caught in her throat.

"Can I kiss you?" I ask out of nowhere. "I-I'm sorry, I've just never kissed anyone before, and I'm about to die, and I'm not kissing Soya, and I really just have always sort of liked you even though I never noticed it and you look really cute now and this is really random I'm sorry I'm just won-"

She steps close to me, and I can't speak. She leans close and pecks me on the lips and pulls back quickly. It wasn't that bad, I guess. She blushes, and looks down at her shoes, sucking in a deep breath, and then she kisses me again, harder, before backing away.

"Good luck, Omri. Bring it home for all of us sitting in the third row." I look at her like she's crazy; she uses the row methodology too?! She smiles shyly and then steps out of the room, the door clicking closed behind her. A minute or two later, the Peacekeepers lead me out and I'm still in shock.

"Come on, bud," one of them barks, and I step out into the hallway. One leads in the front, while the other stands behind me to make sure that I do not bolt and try to escape, his hand on his gun just in case I go crazy for some reason. It's happened to tributes before. The Capitol can stitch up little gunshot wounds before the Games, after all. You just have to make sure not to hit anything vital, just aim at the foot or the hand or the shoulder.

Soon we're out in the open air, the heat and the sun and the soft breeze brushing across my dark skin. I walk onto the platform, waiting for the train. Soya scurries out a minute after I exit, and the train shows up a couple of minutes later. Looks like we're on schedule. We step onto the train, walking into the dining car, and I put on my best smile, thinking of Mom, of Lidia. Time to put it all out there for my mother. Time to put it all out there for all the third rowers out there.

* * *

 _Don't give up and don't give in_

 _Although it seems you never win_

 _You will always pass the test_

 _As long as you keep your head to the sky_

 _You can win as long as you keep your head to the sky_

 _You can win as long as you keep your head to the sky_

 _Be optimistic_

 _If things around you crumble_

 _No, you don't have to stumble and fall_

 _Keep pushing on and don't you look back_

 _I know of storms and strive_

 _I been around them all of life_

 _Just think ahead and you'll be inspired_

 _To reach higher and higher._

* * *

 ** _Soya Chaffer, 17_**

 ** _District Eleven Female_**

I scuttle out to the platform, brushing my hair behind my ear. Omri, his smooth, dark brown skin shining with sweat under the hot summer sun, waits for me. He's here early, or maybe I'm late. Doesn't matter, does it? I smile at him thinly, but he just looks at me like I'm translucent, a window. His eyes pierce through me, and he's not looking at me in a sexual or desiring or judgmental way. He's just staring, locked in deep thought. I wonder if he'd be a good ally.

The train glides into the station, the sun glimmering in wavy bands across its sleek silvery exoskeleton. Everything seems round and smooth, from the wheels to the windows to the door. Omri's hand locks around the slim, slippery handle, and he yanks open the door and lets me walk inside in front of him. My fingertips brush against the metal, and I pull back on instinct. The metal is blazing underneath the relentless July sun of District Eleven. It's the type of weather where my mother would bring out the big floppy straw sunhats for me and my sister and the workers to wear so our skin won't bubble and peel underneath the sun's brutal rays. Thoughts of the orchards and my mother and my sister and everyone else fill my head, and I feel a pang of homesickness, a pang of self doubt, a pang of worry, a pang of _Oh shit. I'm going to go to die in the arena._ I push it away. I'll be absolutely fine.

Of course I'm not totally solid on my idea of "Once something terrible happens to you, nothing else bad will ever happen to you". In my goodbyes, my mother just hugged me but my sister told me to get my head in the game, and to not be such a pansy and to stop avoiding the painful truth and think about a way to really win besides just believing it will magically happen. I guess she's sort of right, but I've lived by that saying since my father died. I've never felt unhappy since I shed my black dress after leaving his funeral. Not once. When you feel something bad, you think of something better, and push past it.

Waiting in the dining room is a jolly Phemia, having washed the gray-white marbled paint off of her face. Her skin's tinted a soft pastel pink, and it darkens as her cheeks grow ruddy with excitement when she spots us entering the car. Our Mentor and District's only Victor, Pumpkin Little, also sits at the table in a dark orange cocktail dress, her eyes outlined with light orange makeup. She grins halfheartedly and shakes our hands once we sit down, welcoming us.

"Welcome guys!" Pumpkin says with a small smile. "Eat up, we have some good food here that'll just go to waste if we don't eat it, and anyway it's a good strategy to plump up on food during the Pre-Games so you have more fat reserves to last you in the Games. Then we'll talk strategy."

I quickly heap my plate with custard filled pastries and sugar dusted cookies as well as several pieces of luscious looking fruit and crumbly, thick bread smeared with jams and flavored butters. I try to act politely as I gnaw on a tough piece of smothered-with-strawberry-jam bread, but the food's just too good. I'm not poor, and I eat good food every day; I don't eat your run of the mill bland porridge like most of Eleven's citizens do for breakfast and dinner, and an apple or piece of bread for lunch. But all of this decadence is just the next level, and I eat until I can't fit anything else in my stomach and I feel like I want to throw up. Even then, I want to stuff more in just so I can taste more of the explosive flavors on my tongue. I feel like I'm about to burst.

Phemia eats happily, gorging just like me, while Pumpkin and Omri eat slower and calmer, eating less and being more selective about their choices. Once we've licked the crumbs off of our plates and most of the food is gone, Pumpkin wipes her mouth with her soft cloth napkin before straightening in her chair and smiling gently at the two of us. Phemia continues to nibble on a cheese cube as she watches us, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

"So, are we going to do skill analyzing together and the like, or should we go separately?" Pumpkin inquires.

I'm about to say I'm fine talking together, but Omri quickly cuts in. "I'd like to go solo, if that's alright," he mumbles, wiping a stray crumb off of the corner of his mouth. My grin falters; I thought maybe this kind guy could be an ally possibly, but he seems totally uninterested in me. Maybe he just wants to go it alone, or maybe I'm not up to snuff in his eyes. Oh well. That just means one less friend I have to kill to make it home.

"Okay then, that's totally alright," Pumpkin chimes. "Phemia, do you mind talking with Soya here? Omri and I are going to head over to the back car to talk over strategy and the like." Pumpkin smiles as Phemia's face brigthens exponentially.

"OH MY GOSH! I'd love to actually help out for once! Just getting sponsors is boooooor-ing!" Phemia giggles lightly, tossing some dyed slate-gray hair over her shoulder with an exuberant smile. I watch as Pumpkin and Omri stand and leave. Omri's body is made of fluid muscles. I have muscles of my own, of course, but his are bigger and more prominent. He's also older, and looks more menacing. Obviously Pumpkin has more faith in him. That's alright, though. I'll still blow them all away when I win; it was going to happen no matter what. At least now, the shock factor will be even bigger.

"So, Soya," Phemia says, her voice quavering and breathy, her smile so wide it looks like it never ends. "What are your special skills?"

"I can climb trees, I'm a hard worker, I am sort of strong, I know some edible plants, and I'm optimistic about my chances! I'm also social so I should be able to make some allies to protect me in the Games," I reply, returning her grin with one of my own. Phemia grabs a cookie and munches it down excitedly, nodding in approval.

"Areas of weakness?" Phemia blubbers. She seems so hyped, like she's wanted to do this for ages but never has had to chance to. A sweat has broken out on her brow and her body quivers with anticipation and I want to laugh, not because she's weird but because she's almost cute.

"Eh, I don't have much skill with weapons, and some people find me too nice or something," I giggle lightly.

"Well, we can work with that!" Phemia blurts. "So, let's get to the fun stuff! Cocktail dress, or ballgown?!"

"Cocktail dress, of course!"

* * *

 **A/N: Here is District Eleven! It was fun revisiting these two and I hope they were fun to read about :D**

 **I don't have much to say really. I hope this was good. XD Just District Twelve left! :D**

 **Omri (1 pt.): How many times did Lidia kiss him?**

 **Soya (1 pt.): What color is Phemia's skin?**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing! 450+ reviews, y'all are the best!**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	35. Goodbyes & Trains: Twelve

**A/N: The last one! :D We're here in District Twelve for our last G &T chapter, revisiting Gaylord "Lord" Parthenia and Carmen Ionique-Astron. Quite a mouthful, eh? xD Good thing I like names that are mouthfuls! ;)**

 **Enjoy your reading!**

 **P.S. I got out of hand with Gaylord. Like REALLY out of hand. His POV is around 2,000 words. Sorry. XD You'll see why, I guess. Also, Carmen gets a goodbye and train ride, because I needed her to have some goodbye time to explain her better. This is the second longest G &T chapter, like only 10-20 words behind the Ten chapter.**

 **Trigger Warnings: Profanity and mentions of sexual intercourse/suggestive language**

* * *

 _It's my own design_

 _It's my own remorse_

 _Help me to decide_

 _Help me make the most_

 _Of freedom and of pleasure_

 _Nothing ever lasts forever_

 _Everybody wants to rule the world_

 _There's a room where the light won't find you_

 _Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down_

 _When they do I'll be right behind you_

 _So glad we've almost made it_

 _So sad they had to fade it_

 _Everybody wants to rule the world_

* * *

 ** _Lord Parthenia, 16_**

 ** _District Twelve Male_**

My hand is entwined with the hand of my newest catch, Angelica. She's skinny like a twig and has bug eyes, but she has a good nose, mouth, and teeth and always speaks in a soft, sultry tone. She's also had the hots for me apparently since she started coming to the bar three weeks ago. I've just never really noticed her until two weeks ago when she asked me out. She might sound sexy, but she "wants to go slow" and wants to wait for sex until we're married and all that jazz. That's okay with me. I haven't cheated on her and haven't pressured her. Sex is great, but love is better. Just imagine, Angelica Parthenia. It sounds like a name made in heaven! I'll give it a couple of months, I hope it lasts. Girls usually don't stick this long around me. She's kept me on my best behavior so far. I've only passed out drunk once and the last time I hooked up with a girl was when I got involved with that Peyton girl two months ago. She was gone the moment I woke up; Cressilda said she got up around two and scurried out of there. Haven't seen her since. Girls have been scant around the bar lately. I was lucky to get Angelica. Sometimes I wonder if she can change me, like in the fairy tales, and then I laugh. Angelica might be a good girl, but those are always the girls in the movies who go sour and dark. Good thing sour and dark girls are right up my alley. I wonder if she loves me. I wonder if she thinks about me.

Well, do I love her? Girls are beautiful specimens. I enjoy their company, their laughs, their minds, their bodies, their fantasies, their eyes, everything about them. I get involved and heartbroken easily. It's just my way. You'd think I'd learn, but the stupid schools of Twelve never taught me how in the few years I actually attended full time before I had to start working at the bar to support myself. I don't like to think about the time before that, so I won't.

Anyway, Angelica looks like an absolute _babe_ in a charcoal dress that goes a little past her knees. Her dark brown hair is smoothed out and she's dusted the littlest bit of golden makeup on her olive skinned face, probably filched from somewhere by her older sister knowing her family's financial status. I press a feathery light kiss on her lips, and when we part she looks down shyly at the dusty ground, red tinting her smooth cheeks.

As we walk into the short line to get into our pens (we're a little early, upon her insistence), I tickle her ear with my nose and breathe, "You look so beautiful in that dress, Angelica, just like you always do." I press a small kiss on her cheek, just next to her earlobe and a little up, and she giggles. She's so pure and shy and intelligent unlike many of the sluts I fall for, the scummy hoes who haunt bars and strip clubs and give boys a ride for a little extra money. I don't necessarily detest that, you gotta do what you gotta do to survive, but they're always the ones that break my heart. Fuck them, eh?

Angelica and I get our fingers pricked, and then we split. She heads to the 17 year old girl's section; yeah, I scored a girl a year older than me. I do look older than 16, and most people think I'm 18 plus because of my muscles that they assume are from working in the mines. Push ups and curl ups in the barren, empty hours between the bar opening and closing and sleep really build stamina and strength pretty easily. And girls _do_ love to see a muscular guy who can do knuckle push ups or a hundred sit ups in a row. I used to be a stringy little kid, but I worked at it. I still have the scars on my knuckles from when I first tried knuckle push ups on the rough cement sidewalk outside of the bar with Thor watching. I smile as I enter my pen. I feel introspective today, maybe because of Angelica.

I start to get a little impatient as I stand there, waiting. We got here pretty early, and Twelve is notoriously late at things, such as, say, getting a Victor. A large, dark front of storm clouds is sprouting in the east, looming behind the Justice Building ominously, and I really don't want it to rain. That means the ceiling of the bar gets all drippy. I cross my fingers out of stupid superstition Cressilda taught me as the Justice Building's doors bang open and the Mayor, what's-his-face, strides out, fidgeting, alongside the serene, elegant Edna Trinket. Even I have to respect her class; she's escorted for _22_ years straight, since the beginning, and has yet to get a Victor. Hard workers, even if they're pompous Capitolites, get brownie points with me.

The Mayor, named Haroldus Akite, obviously an incompetent Capitolite bloke, stutters and staggers and spits through his speech, and then Edna glides to the microphone and saves the day. Dressed in modest pastel greens and yellows, she looks rather pretty, for a sixty-something year old woman at least. After she shows the video, which I half sleep through, she strides over to the girl's bowl. I wonder who she'll pick. Maybe one of my ex's. Sheila? Ember? Jacinta? Caroly-

"Carmen Ionique-Astron!" Edna declares firmly, in a no frills way. Everyone gapes as a man screams, "NO! Not my...not my wife!" All thoughts of my naughty ex girlfriends and kissing Angelica are wiped from my mind as a girl waddles out of the seventeen year old section, trying not to cry, trying to smile, and failing miserably. I look down to her stomach...and see the swollen baby bump. I suck in a raspy breath. This...this can't be legal. Won't someone volunteer? Of course not! What was I even thinking? It's Twelve. There's lots of pregnant girls, but none of them have ever gotten Reaped. I hear a child crying, and my eyes open wider. Does she have more? She has a husband and a baby on the way at seventeen; girls like that usually get started in their early teens, fourteen or fifteen, in Twelve. I hope she doesn't have more children, and that it's just some worried, frightened twelve year old having a meltdown. That's just cruel, a mother torn away from her family.

As Carmen stands next to Edna, Edna looks at her with pure pity, the most human emotion I've ever seen out of a Capitolite to date. Everyone knows Edna is the least...fashionable Mentor, if you want to put it in Capitolite terms, but our people like it that way. Edna picks out the male's name quietly.

"Gaylord Parthenia!"

I smirk as I climb onto the stage as the catcalls echo around me, trying not to let them see the fear lurking beneath my mask. I look out into the crowd and see Angelica's blank face and over a dozen girls sniggering. One girl from the eighteen year old section, _damn Sheila Eastin!,_ screams, "WHORE!" A nearby Peacekeeper draws out his thick black iron baton and Sheila quiets down, but the damage has already been done to my image.

Despite that, I smile as wide as I can, trying to keep a cool head, and I flex my arms to the crowd, grinning like a maniac probably. I can see some girls rolling their eyes and others smiling shyly like Angelica does whenever I call her beautiful. Edna announces our names once more to the crowd, and I take weeping Carmen's hand and squeeze it, trying to be reassuring, but she doesn't even react, and I have to fight out of her grasp. Edna guides us into the Justice Building as I hear Sheila's voice rising up once again behind me, and then there's the crack of a baton and the snap of a bone, and I feel equal parts disgusted and satisfied.

The Peacekeepers escort me down the hallways of the Justice Building, not making a single sound beside the squeak of their plasticky combat boot soles against the recently waxed floors of the Justice Building. I'm guessing the only time they clean is Reaping season, when Capitolite dignitaries ride in with Edna to check out how everything is running. That's also probably why they crushed one of Sheila's bones, to show that they aren't afraid to use some force. If it wasn't Reaping day, if the Capitolites weren't running amok, checking this and that, Sheila wouldn't even have gotten a warning. They wouldn't have even batted an eye.

They open a door to a seemingly random room and drop me inside before letting it slam closed behind me. There's the small wooden bench, which looks so old and unsteady that placing a grain of sand on it would make it collapse. There's also the grimy porthole that lets greasy dark light stream through. Water droplets splatter across it's surface; it seems that the heavens have opened up now that the Reaping is over.

The door opens, and Cressilda and Thor tumble in. Cressilda gives me an awkward hug and Thor shakes my hand really hard. We stand there for a moment, staring at one another. Then Thor nods, Cressilda murmurs, "Good luck, Lord," and then they're gone. We've always had a weird friendship, and they're weird too. Cressilda rarely speaks, tragically a prostitute at such a young age just to feed her two brothers and parents, and Thor lost his parents when he was little to illness and ever since he's drank more than he's spoken. I should be happy that one of them even said anything, I guess.

The door opens again, and a stern looking Angelica, flanked by three of my ex's, walks in. There's Jacinta and Ember as expected, and then one of my very first, the girl I lost my virginity too, Gwendolynne. They all look angry, and why isn't Angelica crying?

"You told me you were a virgin," Angelica murmurs, and she starts to cry, and they're angry tears, not sad tears. "You-you said I was the only girl for you! And yet, you've...you've fucked all these sluts behind me, you asshole!" She snorts, snot dribbling down her face.

"Hey, hey, hey, who you callin' a slut?" Jacinta drawls. "I bet you've been enjoying that admittedly hot body for some time now, Angie."

"It's Angelica, and no, never!" she shrieks. My heart shrivels as she glares at me. I guess I won't be coming back to her love.

"You've definitely thought about it!" Ember hisses, and an all out cat fight erupts. I tip toe around them, and crack open the door. I tap the Peacekeeper stationed outside of the door on the shoulder, smiling shyly as he whips around to look at me, his hand going to his hip for his baton.

"Hey, sorry to scare you sir, could you get these girls outta here? Never seen them before in my life," I say, looking at my shoes innocently. The man nods gruffly, puts on his Peacekeeper helmet, and storms into the room, extracting each girl one by one as they kick and scream. Angelica is the last out, and she goes quietly, following the man out and glaring at me. As she steps out of the door, she says something.

"Rot in hell, Gaylord Parthenia," she sniggers, wiping the tears from her bony face. She looks so tattered and flat now.

"Don't bet on it, dear!" I chuckle as the door snaps closed behind her.

* * *

 _There is a house built out of stone_

 _Wooden floors, walls and window sills_

 _Tables and chairs worn by all of the dust_

 _This is a place where I don't feel alone_

 _This is a place where I feel at home._

 _And I built a home_

 _for you_

 _for me_

 _Until it disappeared_

 _from me_

 _from you_

 _And now, it's time to leave and turn to dust..._

* * *

 ** _Carmen Ionique-Astron, 17_**

 ** _District Twelve Female_**

I'm sobbing as they drag my children away from me. Aris looks like he wants to fight against the Peacekeeper, but he's holding Bonnie and he can't do anything. Aramis clings to Aris's leg and stares at the ground blankly, but Cobalt is throwing a tantrum, spasming in the other Peacekeeper's strong barrel arms. I shush him and calm him down enough so he stops thrashing. He begins to cry quietly.

"Say goodbye to Mommy," Aris whispers, his eyes brimming with tears, and I collapse on the floor, sobbing, as my children mewl out their adoration for me. I try to put on a brave face and a smile for them, but it's impossible. I can't see anything through my tears, and when I finally manage to wipe them out of my eyes, they're all gone. Aristotle, Bonnie, Aramis, Cobalt. My family is _gone._ Every last one of them.

Well, not _all_ of them. My hand instinctively flashes to my stomach, bulging under my loose white dress with a pink floral print on it. I sigh, and lean my head back against the wall. The door cracks open and someone steps inside, and I look up, and I smile sadly at Cape Estrella.

Cape is an older man who sometimes takes care of the kids for us. He's a...midhusband? The male equivalent of a midwife. I met him out on the streets after my Aunt Marni passed away and I was left homeless, singing for a few bits of pocket change or a handful of crumbs so I wouldn't starve to death. He liked my voice, and would walk past me every day and give me the crusts of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, saying he didn't like them. It was all he could give. When I met Aris and I got pregnant with Cobalt at such a young age, Cape took care of his birth free of charge. I still nearly died, and I would have if Cape hadn't been there. Aramis's birth was better, but Bonnie came a month premature. She's okay now, just a little small, but she nearly died. If it weren't for Cape, I would be dead, and none of my children would exist except maybe Cobalt, and I don't even want to know what sort of shape Aris would be in without us.

I think of my children as Cape hobbles over and holds me for a minute. I think of how frail, how starved, they look. I make delusions for myself, telling myself that we're a happy, well fed family, that Aris's job is some heaven sent occupation that somehow makes enough to support five, soon to be six, mouths. I let myself cry again as Cape holds me. He's the closest thing I have left to family outside of Aris and the kids.

"Take care, Carmen," Cape whispers as he pulls away, the Peacekeepers waiting impatiently at the door. "At least the baby will be delivered flawlessly in the Capitol, darling. It'll be perfectly healthy, I know it sweetie." The Peacekeepers move to grab Cape my his arms, but he raises his cane defensively and staggers out, leaning heavily on his cane, without another word. Then the Peacekeepers seize me gently by my arms and walk me out into the hallway. Cape turns down one hall and disappears while we head in a different direction. Soon we reach a set of swinging doors, and we walk out into a muddy patch of yellowed, dead grass. The rain splutters from the sky and patters against everything; it's coming down pretty hard. An unreadable Gaylord waits on the platform, his hair and nice outfit wet. I'd guess he's wealthy, if it weren't for the catcalls during the Reaping. I might have been sobbing, but I heard the words they called him.

I move as fast as I can, a pitiful, awkward waddle, through the puddles towards the platform. The Peacekeepers lift me onto the platform, and I shiver, sopping wet. I hug myself, and look over at Gaylord, who is staring at me. Not in a perverted way as one might suspect someone that others call...foul names...but in a deadpan, saddened way. He just shakes his head slightly and rakes his hand through his damp hair. He looks pretty handsome, I guess.

A train squeals out of nowhere like the lightning rumbling above. A bolt of lightning cracks soon after the train stops next to the platform. Gaylord opens the door and helps me step inside like a real gentleman, smirking kindheartedly. He walks in behind me, and we find ourselves in a dining room.

Edna Trinket and our Mentor, Eris Glasshine, sit at the stately mahogany table in the dining car. Edna has her hands clasped on the table, back ramrod straight, looking very presentable and respectable. She reminds me a bit of Cape. Eris, meanwhile, is young; she could pass for Reaping age. Unlike most Capitolites, she looks drab and District-like, and she's swirling a glass of scotch around, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. When she sees us however, she sets down the glass, tactfully hiding it behind a pile of pastries, and she grins widely. It's no secret that Eris craves a Victor and can be a little overbearing.

We sit down at the table, and there's silence for a moment. Then Edna clears her throat.

"I'm so sorry, Carmen," she murmurs, looking right into my eyes and boring into my soul. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

"I get it, I know that it's random," I sniff, trying to be happy and get my head screwed back on straight. "Don't feel guilty. The baby is due any day now anyway, he or she will probably come before we even get to the interviews," I say lightly. Edna tries to smile to reaffirm me that she's alright, but she gives a longing look at the glass of scotch Eris is trying to hide. Eris looks a little queasy, and I have a feeling she's not a drinker. I hope I didn't cause her to have some alcohol.

"Can I by any chance have some of that scotch? It's...Midas 09, right?" Gaylord speaks up suddenly, eyeing Eris's glass.

"Midas 10. But how did you know that? And no! You're sorely underage!" Eris snaps back. "Sorry. I need my tributes to have their head in the right mindset."

"I'm a bartender. I can drink more shots in an hour than you can in your whole life without puking. Give me the scotch."

"No," Eris mutters firmly.

"Hey, Avox girl? You look super pretty in that red cocktail dress!" The Avox blushes. "Care to fetch me some Midas 10 scotch, pretty pretty please with a cherry on top?" The Avox looks uneasily at Eris, but she cannot avoid direct orders from a tribute, and she scurries out of the car.

"I hope this is a one time occasion," Eris sighs. "If the Capitol found out you drank..."

"Aww, cheer up Ms. Glasshine!" Gaylord chuckles. "It's just one glass of scotch!"

I look at him like he's a bad taste in my mouth. Alcohol?! I've never tasted a drop of it in my life. I guess that's mostly because I pretty much skipped my teenage years. I went from 0 to 60, from hapless 13 year old orphan to mother overnight.

"So, Ms. Glasshine," I speak up, cutting through the tension filled air permeating throughout the room. "Is there anything I have to know related to the Games that will effect my little baby?" My hand shoots to my stomach out of habit, and I rub a small circle, comforting the baby almost.

Eris pauses for a moment, her words getting caught in her throat. She looks at me with worried, wild eyes, and she grabs her glass of scotch and takes a quick sip before turning to me and smiling brightly. "Don't worry about that right now, dear, everything will be perfectly fine."

"Oh great!" I reply with a smile, and I grab an eclair and munch on it thoughtfully, actually feeling happy right now. My baby will be born in the Capitol, but at least it will be a safe birth. I'll have Capitol doctors at my beck and call during the birth, and my baby will have the best life if he or she ends up staying in the Capitol. I hope they'll return my baby back to Twelve, even if without me Aris will be miserable and he'll struggle to take care of the kids. I don't want my one child to be stuck in the Capitol, no matter how much of a good life they'd have. I want my family to be united after I'm gone. Let's be honest. I'm not making it home; my chances are pretty terrible, even if I wasn't pregnant. You don't recover overnight from childbirth; you're tired and wrecked for days afterward. Even if I had the baby in ten minutes, I'd still be too tired to even jog to the Cornucopia. At least, that was how it was back in Twelve. Maybe it'll be different in the Capitol.

I rub my stomach again, smiling, as Edna, Eris, and Gaylord talking quietly about strategy that I don't pay much attention to even though I should. This little baby boy or girl is almost ready to leave my stomach. I was scared that this fourth birth would lead to complications; Cape was honest with me and told me I had a 50/50 shot of surviving this birth, that it could go bad or good easily. My body's beat up from three natural births. Even if I die, at least the baby inside me, the little human that Aristotle and I created one fateful night, will survive, no questions asked. It's all a mother could ask for.

* * *

 **A/N: AAAAAAAND we are done with Goodbyes and Trains! I love doing these, but I think we're all ready to move on to the Pre-Games! :D I was going to take a break and I probably won't have an update later today, but I'll probably end up writing the Pre Parade chapter by Monday or something because I'm just really into this story right now XD**

 **I'm posting a new poll. The Top 2 vote getters will get a bonus POV during the Pre-Games. So this isn't necessarily for your favorite, but the two tributes you'd like to see getting on the hovercraft and walking down to the tubes. I'll post a poll after the interviews just about for popularity again.**

 **Who did you like better here, Gaylord or Carmen? Have your thoughts on them changed?**

 **Lord (1 pt.): Name 3 of his ex's. xD**

 **Carmen (1 pt.): What is Cape's occupation?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	36. Pre-Parade: The Capitol Welcomes You!

**A/N: So I said I'd work on my other stories first. Turns out I lied. I'm too into this story to stop. Bet you guys don't mind! :D**

 **Today we'll be revisiting these two lovely tributes:**

 **Jayce Newman** **and** **Tyberios Palatium. They are differing lengths because in Tyberios's, for example, which is a good bit longer than Jayce's, we meet lots of other characters, so the focus isn't just on him like it is in Jayce's POV.**

 **We will also be meeting all of the stylists; their POV's will be short and only a small paragraph, sort of like LadyCordeliaStuart's Pre-Parade chapters in her SYOTs. Enjoy!**

 **Also. Age of consent is 16 years old in the Capitol. There's no sex, just a kiss. ;)**

 **Trigger Warnings: Profanity & Sexual innuendo, cuz, like, stylists XD**

* * *

 _Cityscape Skeletons_

 _Taking shape and growing skin_

 _Layer and layer is peeled away_

 _Exhausted_

 _From the repetition of always needing to rebuild_

 _Worn down faces in colorful barren places_

 _City lights and skylines_

* * *

 _ **Jayce Newman, 17**_

 _ **District Five Male**_

The jolt of the train stopping wakes me up. I jerk awake, sweating profusely, and I throw the too-thick and too-soft comforter off of my body. The door cracks open, and I see a shyly smiling Anneliese standing outside of the door, bags under her eyes.

"We're here. You have a half hour before we disembark and head off to the Tribute Center to prepare for the annual Tribute Parade happening later tonight. Shower, get dressed, choose something nice out of the wardrobe." She click-clacks away, apparently wearing heels. Anneliese didn't even wear heels to the Reapings. I'm guessing getting off the train is somehow a bigger occasion than choosing two tributes to die?!

I open a sliding door set into one of the walls. One touch on the flat square of metal where a knob should be, and the door glides open soundlessly. Lights flick on by themselves, revealing an ornate bathroom. A huge shower and a tub, dipping low, fill the room along with a porcelain toilet and a granite and mahogany vanity with one silvery sink spout sticking over the raised granite bowl. I strip off my clothing and step into the shower.

I'm perplexed by the many buttons and dials laid into the wall underneath the shower head. I press a navy blue one, and icy cold water splashes out of the shower head, drenching me. I instinctively step back, and I try to inch around the waterfall of chilly water to press the maroon button that must make the water hot. The freezing water slides across my arm as I dart forward and press the hot water button. The water cuts off for a second, and then warm water floods out, wrapping me in its comforting heat. I sigh, and I look over the other buttons. I press a periwinkle one, and large, iridescent bubbles sprout from the rim of the shower head, raining down on me, as the water shuts off for a moment. I close my eyes as I'm coated in bubbles that smell of lilac, and suddenly there's things scraping at my skin and my scalp. I open my eyes in fear, but I realize it's just the bubbles; Capitol soap is really weird, I guess. My eyes sting from the soap and I close my eyes again, trying to assuage the burning pain. A minute later, just as my body is starting to get cold, the warm water turns back on automatically and drenches me, washing out all of the soap that's sunken into my pores and my follicles. I feel like I've shed a layer of skin when I step out of the shower. I feel so clean, it's wrong. It feels like my entire body is breathing. That thought makes me shudder, but it's true. I slip out of the bathroom after toweling myself dry, and the lights automatically turn off on their own. I walk over to the other door in the room, the closet. This one has a sensor too, and when I press my hand against it, the door soars open. I step inside.

Several dozen outfits, tailor made to my size, hang on the walls. I gape. There's silk and cashmere and a million other fabrics I cannot name, all of them expensive, in a variety of colors, all here for me. The waste. I'll only wear one of these outfits, the other several dozen will probably just get tossed in the trash and pushed into the ocean or whatever Four does with the garbage once it's sent to its sanitation department. I cluck my tongue in disapproval, but I can't help smiling as I push through the racks of clothing. I find a nice pair of khaki pants and a smoothly stitched orange dress shirt. I pull them on, and then I see the tie and belt also tucked on the hanger. I guide the belt through the loops in the pants, and then I fumble around with me tie. No one ever taught me how to tie one. It's not like my parents couldn't or didn't want to, I just guess no one really wears tie in Five besides the super rich people, so why waste your time learning a useless skill?

I call in an Avox, and he expertly ties the tie for me in a windsor knot before bowing and leaving the room. I put on dress socks and a pair of dark brown shoes that match my belt and then I walk out of the door after combing my hair. I walk quickly down the well furnished hallway and into the dining car. A ticked looking Ambrosia, dressed in an extravagant yellow and purple dress, waits impatiently next to Anneliese, still in her heels, and Bernie, who is wearing a long mint green dress and is trying to put on a smile. Anneliese squeezes the girl's hand as Ambrosia twirls and spots me.

"Chop chop chop, you're a minute and a half late!" she squeaks. She opens the door, putting on her best smile then, and motions for us to walk out. Anneliese steps forward first, Bernie sticking right behind her. I step out a moment after Bernie does, and Ambrosia is the last out.

I'm shocked by the crowd of nearly four hundred who have gathered at the station. The incessant flashes of cameras blind me and the cheers undulate from the crowd. They're not saying the same thing so I can't make out any specific words, just all out hysteria. I almost want to ask if they're okay, but then I remember that they're Capitolites. The Games are their favorite holiday. They love watching us die. I put on a good smile as Ambrosia and Anneliese lead my demure District partner off of the platform and down a cleared promenade. A huge building sparkles on the horizon, and I gasp. Everything is flashing with beautiful colors; the skyline amazes me. My head is titled back as I stare all around me in utter wonder. I swear the sky is more colorful and lively than the sky back at home! The people are like an undulating, living sea of rainbow on the streets, and the buildings twist and arch and glitter all around me. There's laughter and smiles and full bellies everywhere. Everyone is healthy and happy and jubilant and everything feels so alive. My now ever-present tiredness fades as I soak up the electric atmosphere of the Capitol all around me as we walk forward towards the Tribute Center in awe. Now this is really living.

 _See the world outside of Five. Check._

* * *

 _Fashion!_

 _Step into the room_

 _Like it's a catwalk_

 _Fashion!_

 _Singing to the tune_

 _Just to keep them talking_

 _Fashion!_

 _Walk into the light_

 _Display your diamonds and pearls in mine_

 _Fashion!_

 _Married to the night_

 _I own the world, we own the world_

* * *

 ** _The Stylists_**

* * *

 ** _Junova Wesleyan, 46_**

 ** _District One Stylist_**

Trinity walks into the room and makes the temperature drop five degrees. She's icy blonde, icy blue eyes, icy glare. Her frosty white skin has been plucked and gleamed and scrubbed until it shines like fresh snow, and she doesn't look amused. A small smile fights its way onto her face as I open the black bag hanging alone on the silvery rack, revealing her Parade outfit. She's bathed in the glittering gold-white light streaming through the outfit, looking on in awe.

"District One is awesome," she whispers. I wholeheartedly agree.

"District One is definitely wonderous," I mutter in reply. "Want to try it on?"

"YES!"

* * *

 _ **Grecia Mathilde, 52**_

 _ **District Two Stylist**_

"Don't make me look too pretty," Ardin commands as she sits in the chair in front of the sky scraping mirror, polished so there isn't a smear of anything on it. It's perfect. "But don't make me look drab, if you can do that."

"Going for the subtly beautiful warrior, I see? Let me guess your angle...the Viper, like Lucia?" I reply, adding a thin golden line underneath both of her eyes, making sure both swipes of makeup perfectly fit the contour of the bottom of her eye.

"No. I'm going for the Swan," she murmurs, and I finally understand. The Swan angle isn't your usual angle. I usually get the Brutes, the Vipers, the Hawks, and the Grasshoppers. I don't know who the last Swan was, really...

"Serephina," she mutters. I must've spoken my thoughts aloud. "It wasn't official, but the Swan...it's her angle."

"I see. Quite a legacy to live up to."

"Quite."

* * *

 _ **Amandus Brushes, 38**_

 ** _District Three Stylist_**

"Hello sir," Millard mutters quietly when he enters the room, extending his hand. I shake it. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr..."

"Brushes. Amandus Brushes." I guffaw for a moment; I sound like that antique James Bond whose movie remakes have just become the latest cinematic hit the Capitol theaters. And this time it wasn't even intentional. Millard doesn't even flinch as I giggle before calming down.

"Sorry there, bud. I'm an excitable fellow, have been for the past sixteen years that I've done this, and I'll always be. Now, tell me. Do you like keys?"

* * *

 _ **Pufelle Chassy, 29**_

 _ **District Four Stylist**_

Why does Cordelia not look amused? I know it's not the threatening ancient warriors that Grecia tirelessly pounds out like a machine or the mesmerizing wonders of crystals and precious metals that Junova always expertly crafts, but they're soo serious and sooo old! Even with her treatments, I can still tell that Grecia's over fifty. Aaaaanyway, I wanted to change it up. Who doesn't like a fun loving, laughable tribute?!

"Say arrrrrrrrrrrrr!" I shout, posing to take a picture with her in her costume, as Cordelia scowls, looking like she wants to tear off her so-called "wacky" outfit. I think it's rather creative, if a bit childish. But hey, take a chill pill there girl. It's kids fighting kids, no matter what she tries to tell me. She's not an adult yet. You only live once, kids, so enjoy your childhood while it lasts! I wonder if Cordelia's will last past the end of this month. I wouldn't bet on it, if I were allowed to. Now CHAVEZ! That guy is a different beast entirely. I can't wait to fit his snug eye patch around that chiseled face...

* * *

 _ **Speciallo Canty, 27**_

 _ **District Five Stylist**_

Jayce walks into the room, a towel wrapped around his waist. He looks weak and tired and he trembles a little, but his smile is bright and his eyes vivacious and his face could be considered handsome with some hardcore TLC. It's always the hurt guys that I fall for. Too bad he's literally ten years younger than me, and is destined to go die in a death match by the end of the week, and there's also the fact that he's probably straight.

"So, umm...don't know how the ask this," Jayce mutters. He clears his throat. "One of my prep team, Verona, she said you're...homosexual...and...well, see, I have this bucket list...I'm straight, but I've always been curious...umm...would you kiss me?"

I lean over and plant a quick kiss on his lips, and then I quickly pull away and start looking at his outfit. He blushes, but I don't. Kisses are _nothing_ when you're a decently famous, kinky twenty-something homosexual living the good life in the Capitol.

"Kiss a guy. Check," he mutters, and I just chuckle. So sweet. Too bad he's probably going to die.

* * *

 _ **Twinkle Petyr, 34**_

 _ **District Six Stylist**_

Fender stands before me in no clothing as I measure his height and his waist length. He's definitely a beautiful specimen and he keeps making me blush. I'm such a prude, and seeing a handsome man, a real man, buck naked in front of me, well...it makes me all nervous and tingly. My hands shake as I hold up the tape measure by his left arm, measuring it. Umm, I can't read it...he's not even that good looking! It's just stupid Twinkle being insecure little old me from high school, the little chubby, geeky girl with tattoo implants gone wrong. They SHONE so bright that I had to paint over them, and they still do. I'm _Twinkling Twinkle Twinkie Eater_ all over again, and I hate it. I hope he dies, just so I don't have to feel so insecure ever again.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his deep voice genuinely concerned.

I don't respond. My throat won't let me. My brain sings _Twinkling Twinkle Twinkie Eater_ over and over again, and it's all I can do to keep measuring Fender without screaming and crying and making him leave the room so I can be alone and be read of that evil tune in my head.

* * *

 _ **Glitzya Hispa, 23**_

 _ **District Seven Stylist**_

"OOH! You're that girl that flipped off that guy at the Reaping! You're SOOOO cool, baby girl!" I shriek, hugging Ivy. She immediately recoils.

"I'm _naked,_ for Snow's nice to meet you, too." Sassy! Fiery! I know just what to dress her up as! This will be revolutionary! This will change the course of Seven's reputation in the Capitol and in the Games forevermore! I will leave my mark-

Oh. I guess they don't have giant golden hydras in Seven. Maybe that's Six? Well, I guess it's back to the botany book...hey, what about trees?!

* * *

 _ **Fashionista Pink, 37**_

 _ **District Eight Stylist**_

"Honey, you have to take off the towel to put on the costume," I coo, trying to coax Calico into dropping his towel.

"No," he reaffirms for the tenth time, rather forcefully. "I am putting my foot down."

"Do you want to go in front of the whole nation wrapped in just a towel, honey?"

"Point made. Close your eyes."

I follow his instructions after removing the complicated outfit from it's bag, and in moments I can hear a seam ripping. Not my darling creation! I fly forward, opening my eyes and pulling him out of the costume. He hasn't done that much damage, I can fix it in ten minutes tops.

"Hey! NO PEEKING!" he wails, covering himself. "I-I don't like when people look at my body."

"It's okay, honey. It'll all be okay..."

* * *

 _ **Cravat Lumbroux, 54**_

 _ **District Nine Stylist**_

I was going to dress Luke and Sage up as simple planters, but this pair has more potential than I've had in over five years. I haven't had anyone older than 16 since the Fifteenth Hunger Games, nearly seven years ago. Also, they're both pretty healthy, not living skeletons like most of the sickly kids I usually get. I have to do better for these two. I'm aging, and my muse is fleeting, but she comes to me as I stand before Sage, inspecting her inquisitively.

"I have _just_ the idea," I grumble, and then I immediately begin sketching.

"Beautiful drawing," Sage compliments, trying to make conversation.

"Thanks," I mutter before turning back to my drawing. Sometimes kids don't know when to let someone let their creative juices flow.

* * *

 _ **Powder Lyanne, 26**_

 _ **District Ten Stylist**_

Miriam looks like she wants to squirm as I pull out my trays upon trays of makeup. I select a dark red, glossy stick of lipstick, and she seems to be avoiding it as I try to put it on her lips. The evasion becomes to intense that she eventually turns her head just as I'm about to swipe it across her upper lip. The whole tip of the tube of lipstick smears across her cheek. I sigh, and grab a wipe and scrub it off of her face.

"Don't like makeup, eh?" I remark once I'm done, folding my arms.

"Eh," she mutters, looking at her hands.

"I was crazy about that stuff when I was thirteen. Still am."

"Well maybe I'm not like you."

"I'd hope not," I chuckle. "I had the hots for Zeus Madadore in seventh grade! Eww!"

"Who?" she inquires, mystified.

"Oh, never mind, you wouldn't know him." Ah, memories. When I kissed the guy that tried to murder Snow three years ago when we were 13. It was one fateful night. Calla Espenson had just been crowned Victor, and he told me to meet him at the fountain in Abaco Park...he kissed me then started talking deeply about independence and making our own lives and governing ourselves...I should have known he was a crack head.

"Hey miss? Can I eat one of these candies?" Miriam asks, holding up a glassy red bead that must have fallen off of her costume.

"NO!"

* * *

 _ **Ygga Tossel, 32**_

 _ **District Eleven Stylist**_

I try to smile as Omri walks into the room. I cannot _believe_ Alehenia would break up with me on the day of the Parade, like the only night I work in the entire year! My fiancee leaves me to go screw around with her brother's best friend. Like...you told me you were homosexual, not bisexual. I get people change, but still. It's Amoranthen. Zoudele. What good can come from that?

"Are you alright? You've been staring at my feet for five minutes," Omri says suddenly.

"Of course I'm not alright!" I wail, slamming my fist against the wall.

"Did I do something?" Omri inquires innocently.

"Of course not!" I howl. "Just put on your outfit and tell Soya to get in here, maybe she'll be more bearable!"

"Of course," Omri whispers, and he starts to get dressed. Was that snarkiness I detected in his tone?!

* * *

 _ **Amazingus Amarillo, 21**_

 _ **District Twelve Stylist**_

"LIKE OHHHHHHHHH EMMMMMM GEEEEEEE! I AM A FUCKING STYLIST, BITCHES!" I shout in my _beautifully_ nasally voice, taping a video to send to all them damn haters out there. I do a kissy face for the camera. My huge lime green and yellow mohawk wobbles on top of my head. The door opens, and Gaylord steps in.

"Omg, like, why is your name Gay!?" I squeal once the door's closed behind him.

"Ask my dead parents," he grumbles, definitely put off by me. WHEE WHEE WHEE! HATER ALERT!

"Are you sassing me, young man?" He sure looks hot, with those muscles all waxed...

"Are you sassing me, old fleabag?" Now that's not hot. Not at all...winkwinkwink. I could _gorge_ on this little dude.

"Ready to get your costume on?" I inquire, giggling, and pulling out a pot of coal dust and a brush.

"Fuck no!" he shouts. He's cuter when he's angry!

"Ever considered homosexuality?" I step close, and start to pull off my shirt.

He makes for the door, and no one stops him.

"Amazingus!" one of the prep teamers, Veruca, yelps.

"Oops," I chuckle. SOOOO worth it.

* * *

 _We paint white roses red,_

 _Each shade from a different person's head_

 _This dream, dream is a killer_

 _Getting drunk with a blue caterpillar_

 _I'm peeling the skin off my face_

 _'Cause I really hate being safe_

 _The normals, they make me afraid_

 _The crazies, they make me feel sane_

* * *

 ** _Tyberios Palatium, 18_**

 ** _District Two Male_**

I step forward, out of the waiting room, once Ardin steps out, all dressed up in a matching costume. The splendor around me, all the flashing lights and sculpted buildings and bizarre works of art that seem to be human are distracting me, and the ache in my head has faded to a dull, soft thud in the back of my head. Grecia emerges behind Ardin, lips pursed. She folds her arms and looks us over, making sure every minute detail on our outfits is correct and in place.

"Stand close together for me. Tyberios, on the left, Ardin, on the right." We do as she says, and she walks around us, tapping her pointer finger against her lips in thought as her eyes glide across our bodies, searching for any imperfections. "Ah ha!"

She stoops down, a needle and a spool of golden thread in hand. She kneels down at the edge of my leather skirt and fiddles with something, pulling out a torn section of thread before sewing in a new strand of the shiny golden stuff. Then she stands, nodding.

"I think everything is in order. Makeup, outfits, hair, and...oh, smiles! Tyberios, yours, as you know, will have to be thin and not too bright. Ardin, grin as wide as you can, and seem very welcoming and kind honey. Oh, Ardin, come here, there's a hair out of place..."

The next half hour is spent with Grecia fiddling with small errors in our outfits that no one else would have noticed if they inspected them for a millennia, but to Grecia they're a huge deal. Gradually there's a slight crescendo in my head, as the pain goes from tamped down to a thick stamping against my skull. Soon it's scalding and aching like it's bleeding in my head. I just squeeze my eyes shut and I try to breathe evenly. Just give it a minute, Tyberios. One minute, and you'll be in the spotlight, on a chariot, with millions screaming your name. Everything will be gone, and you will feel so damn good.

Just thinking of the promenade where the chariots roll down makes the pain recede a bit, but that won't last for long. The pain's just getting worse now that I've had things like the Reaping to distract myself. It's like a drug addict, where the depression gets worse and worse between each blissful dose. If I win though, I can overdose so many times in the spotlight and no one will care and I'll be living the high life. That thought just makes me more determined. Maybe there's a way to solve these migraines; there has to be. Maybe when I win the Games they'll give something to me-

"Tyberios?" Grecia speaks up. "So, I've heard about your chronic migraines, and how they can sometimes be effected by intense sound. It's going to be _bombastic_ out there with all the Capitolites screaming over the two of you, and I don't want you to look weak. Therefore, I contacted Head Gamemaker Ludum and President Snow about giving you a small dose of _Zorion_ _._ It's this newer, effective drug to solve headaches. It's damn expensive, but Snow got a special dosage just for the parade and for the interview and for the launch so you don't look weak. He likes his rough and tumble Careers after all."

"You...you have something to cure me?" I whisper breathlessly.

"It's not a cure, it's an analgesic-"

"I don't give a crap what it's called if it stops my headaches. Give it to me."

Grecia beckons an Avox over. She has a small orange bottle and a glass of water in hand. The bottle reads _Take Two_ in large black script across the front of the bottle. I pop off the top, and pour two of the round, glossy, pastel pink pills into my hand, and I slam them onto my tongue and knock them back with the water, drowning the pills and the whole glass of water in one massive gulp. Ardin looks at me with a brow quirked, and Grecia looks surprised.

"Are they really that bad?" Grecia murmurs.

I don't reply. All I feel is bliss, spreading through my skull. No, it's not bliss. It's not tingly or sweet and soft and cuddly. It's _nothing._ And it's so beautiful.

Grecia practically leads me by the hand down the hallway once the pills have set in. "You can't look like you're high, though," she grunts. I nod sleepily, and I blink rapidly, trying to wake up a little. I'm afraid that the rapid motion will lead to an onslaught of pain, but it doesn't. I grin wildly.

Soon enough, we're walking out of some door; I haven't been paying attention to how we've gotten here. We're in a long, darkened tunnel, with a few large, bright, white lights on the ceiling casting illumination on the twelve chariots, twenty four horses, and emerging tributes and stylists. It's a wonder. I see blinking lights, twinkling crystals, swirls of blues and greens, and so much more. As Ardin and I are mesmerized by the people and things around us, Grecia taps us both on the shoulders. We turn around to see her holding two silvery necklaces, one in each hand.

"I have something for you," she mutters. She clasps the necklaces around our necks. Mine has a silvery sword pendant, and Ardin's has a swan with its wings raised as if it's about to take off. I smile graciously at Grecia as she shoos us off.

Ardin and I are quickly approached by the cackling pair from One, dressed in a seriously dazzling outfit. I'm not a hundred percent sure what they are. Are they... crystal chandeliers?! They look hella impressive, however. They're laughing at the pair from Four, who are sort of sulking in their...in their...I start to laugh as well, and Ardin smirks a little as well. How could...they're Careers! Not childish little pirates!

"Enough nonsense," the male barks. We all stop. His voice is loud and imposing, and he's bigger than all of us and probably stronger. "I am Chavez Belasco, and I think I'm going to be leading this Career pack this year, if none of you mind."

"I thought I might do that," Ardin sniffs. "Two usually leads the pack, and Tyberios and I agreed that I'd be the better fit as leader."

"How about I'm the leader?" the One male, something a Z, jokes, but no one pays him any attention. He just huffs and rolls his eyes.

"We'll sort this out later," the One girl mutters. "I'm Trinity Vegas, and this is Zircon O'Dile, my...delightful...District partner."

"I'm Cordelia Nile," the really short Four girl speaks up.

"Hey, weren't you the Reaped girl? You're good enough to be a Career?" Ardin questions.

"She'll be fine, Ardin Varnell," Chavez says in a deep baritone voice, smiling devilishly, and Cordelia looks at him, a little confused for some reason.

"I'm Tyberios Palatium," I grunt, and everyone nods, scanning me over like I've been doing to them. We continue to chit chat idly until a large, purple haired man shouts, "FIVE MINUTES UNTIL THE PARADE BEGINS! I AM ODORE EHRMPHELT, THE HEAD GAMEMAKER OF CEREMONIES! IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS, COME SEE ME RIGHT THIS INSTANT! OTHERWISE, PLEASE BOARD YOU CHARIOTS AND AWAIT THE BEGINNING OF THE PARADE!"

The pack splits up after a few, meaningless goodbyes. Ardin and I lift ourselves into our chariot. It's the same as all the others, tinted silver, but we have two dark gray steeds that are bigger than most of the other horses. One has two slimmer, golden-white horses, and Three behind us has white and black horses, and I'd bet there's lots of other colored horses behind us. I've never seen a horse. I lean over and pat one on its head while we're waiting. It just whinnies and tosses it's head, and I almost fall off of the chariot, losing my balance. Ardin giggles, and I roll my eyes, straightening.

"GET READY, KIDS! THE PARADE'S ABOUT TO BEGIN!" Odore wails. "FIVE. FOUR. THREE. TWO. ONE. ZERO!"

The cover over the exit of the tunnel, almost like a garage door, slides upwards, revealing the millions of Capitolites packed into huge bleachers and dressed in exotic colors and outfits. The moment the door stops rising, the One chariot is lead out onto the promenade as the huge timpani that line the street start banging and the anthem, the _Horn of Plenty,_ starts ringing throughout the city. The screams are overwhelming, and I am happy that Grecia also gave us earplugs just in case we can't stand it. Ardin slides hers on, and so do I, just as our chariot starts to roll forward, the hooves of the horses clopping against the street. The screams and the hysteria of the Games crazed Capitolites engulf us, and everything feels so good and so, so right.

* * *

 **A/N: Whew! That was definitely fun to write, between Jayce being Jayce, the stylists being stylists, and Tyberios being Tyberios! I hope this was an enjoyable read! I will try to get the parade out today if I can, it will be considerably shorter and won't be from any tribute's POV, it will be from a Capitolite POV, either Marionette (She's going to be my staple Capitolite citizen whenever I need one XD) or the announcer, Nuntius Calpor. We'll see what ends up happening, it will probably be Marionette and her betting friends.**

 **So we finally did hit the Capitol, and we're off to a dazzling start! :D**

 **Who did you like better here, Jayce or Tyberios? Have your thoughts of them changed at all? What did you think of the stylists? Favorites? Least favorites?**

 **(I'm SO sorry about Amazingus. I just HAD to make one stylist like that. XD)**

 **Jayce (1 pt.): What color is the shirt he chooses to wear?**

 **Stylists (1 pt.): Who is the oldest stylist?**

 **Tyberios (1 pt.): What is the name of the drug that helps his headaches?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	37. Parade with Marionette Brocklinde

**A/N: This isn't crazy long since it's just Marionette, our Capitolite gal, watching the parade with her friends. Enjoy!**

 **Trigger warnings: profanity**

* * *

 _Cos these lights won't kill me now_

 _Saying these clothes won't change me now_

 _Saying these words won't scare me now_

 _Saying I will be myself_

 _I will be myself_

 _Friendly people_

 _All around_

 _And time to put_

 _our best face on_

 _Yeah_

 _Smiling like there's_

 _Nothing wrong_

 _Though deep down you feel_

 _So alone_

* * *

 ** _Marionette Brocklinde, 24_**

 ** _Capitol Resident_**

 ** _Model and Avid Hunger Games Fanatic and Sponsor_**

The beat of the timpani floods into my ears and dulls my senses, and I laugh out loud and tilt my head to the star spangled sky, lit with fireworks and iridescent floating lanterns. I lift the martini to my lips and take a small sip, the fruity taste exploding across my tongue. Adoria and her fiance, Regius, sit on my right, cuddling and sharing a bag of sweet popcorn in rainbow colors, and Aurorius and Angelico on my other side are downing a couple of hearty beers. They're leaning close to one another, and I swear that they're going to kiss. I always suspected they were gay. I've never caught either of them staring at me or Adoria's...finer body parts, to be prude. They pull away, however, when the timpani booms swell and the _Horn of Plenty_ rises throughout the promenade. There's the far off clop of hooves down the cobblestone road, old fashioned compared to the rest of the city on purpose. The moment Trinity Vegas and Zircon O'Dile are pulled into sight, I can't hear _anything_ besides the beat of the drums and the incessant yells around me. I find that I'm screaming, too. They really are beautiful.

Junova has once again outdone herself. The pair from One are dressed like a waterfall of yellow-white crystals, and the lights of the Capitol bounce off of them, sending kaleidoscope bursts of light all over the road, the parts of the bleachers close to the road, the white-gold horses pulling the chariot, and the tributes themselves. They almost look like avant garde chandeliers, and I absolutely love it! Trinity smiles slightly, standing ramrod straight and looking rather menacing and dazzling simultaneously. Zircon grins widely at the crowd, waving like a maniac and throwing his arms up to tell everyone to yell louder. He's surely rearing to get going.

Two comes out after One, their chariot lead by two dark slate gray steeds. Their outfits, courtesy of the straightforward and detail oriented Grecia Mathilde, are the same as usual but they're still a showstopper. Ardin and Tyberios, dressed in dark brown leather gladiator armor, show off the muscles on their arms and legs. The golden stitching and other golden elements flash under the lights, although the silvery necklaces, which Two tributes always wear, clash a little with the gold. Tyberios looks stern and set and ready to bash apart my head, while Ardin smiles lightly at the crowd and waves shyly. She surely looks more meek than I expected her too. Seems like someone is already playing the Games. She's one to watch out for.

Three is a wildcard; Amandus has his good years, and his bad. I'm betting this year with be controversial. Fujitsa and Millard roll out on the promenade, guided by two black and white horses. They are dressed in a dress and a suit respectively made entirely of computer keys. Thousands of letters line the outfit, glossy under the streetlights. Some of the keys are new, others yellowing and old. A few of them flash with colors. I personally love it, but others might find it garish. Millard smiles politely, smiling and revealing a perfect set of teeth. He sure looks pretty regal for an Outlier. Fujitsa grins widely and waves a bit to everyone around her, and receives some enthusiastic screams as the light glitters off of her engagement ring. Everyone's been thirsting to hear that story.

Four comes out next, their chariot guided by two gray-blue horses. I can't help myself, chuckling wildly like everyone else viewing, as Cordelia and Chavez roll out on their chariot, decked out as...as...as PIRATES! What was Pufelle thinking?! They're not even _scary_ pirates, they're cartoonish and childish. The babyish outfit mixed with her short height makes Cordelia look like she's thirteen years old, and she's clearly not amused. She tries to smile, but just ends up grimacing. Chavez, meanwhile, totally ignores the little pirate hat on his head and the eye patch strapped across one eye, waving and smirking and wagging his eyebrows at the crowd and driving them wild. He sure is handsome, he looks like modeling material. People would pay a lot to sleep with him. I'm sure he's Snow's favorite.

Five is next, and Speciallo is always reliable, never amazing, but never terrible. The crowd starts to quiet down; the Outer Districts are still good fun, but they're almost always much less of a show compared to the Career Districts and Three. The chariot is pulled by two bay stallions. Bernadette and Jayce are dressed in thin black spandex suits covered in flashing light bulbs of various colors, though they're mostly white, orange, and yellow. They're not the best, but they're not bad at all. Bernadette waves enthusiastically, smiling brightly and seeming very excited. Jayce is the same, grinning widely and throwing his arms around in what must be an over-exaggerated wave to the crowd. They both look a little worn out, however, despite their excitement.

Six follows Five, their chariot pulled by two flea bitten gray horses. Twinkle is a...curious...designer. Her designs are usually sort of boring, and almost every inch of skin on her tributes are covered. It's no different this year. As Liberty and Fender come into full sight, it is revealed that they are dressed as hovercraft pilots, every inch of their bodies except their faces covered. They were thick, rubbery black boots, a black jumpsuit with a silver hovercraft printed on the right breast, black gloves, and a glossy black helmet with the visor flipped up so we can see their faces. It isn't Twinkle's worst at all, but it is a little boring. I'm waiting for jetpacks to burst out of their backs or lights to pop out somewhere but that never happens. Liberty waves a little and tries to smile, while Fender has a good natured grin on his face, and he waves a little too, his back ramrod straight. Both tributes seem to be sweating in their heavy garb.

Seven is the next out. Glitzya Hispa has been throwing words throughout every platform she can that her plan is "golden and dazzling" this year. They even got white-gold horses like the ones One uses unlike the muddy brown ones Seven usually gets to match the secret theme. Seems like either a.) Glitzya's original plan flopped, or b.) we misinterpreted crazy Glitzya just saying more trees would be exciting. Hey, at least they're golden, right?! Oh this is a disaster. Neither Ivy nor Baron can move, which is so sad. They could easily be riling up sponsors, laughing and waving and grinning, but they're paralyzed, standing ramrod straight in their golden coffins, their faces barely visible, trying not to fall over from the weight of their costumes. They seriously should fire Glitzya, after last year's "trees on fire" shenanigan that almost got the entire parade cancelled, and now this year with the golden trees. She has good intentions, but horrendous output. Like, it doesn't even _look_ like a golden tree. It's just a golden tube with several golden sticks sprouting from it in a very angular and very artificial manner. I just shake my head, and the noise dies down considerably except for those that are already drunk who continue to whoop and holler in excitement.

Eight comes out, following Seven, their chariot pulled by dark brown horses. Usually Fashionista goes for a simple style of mixed fabrics, maybe some needle or spool accents here or there, but it's usually the same. They aren't bad by any means; the first time she died them, it was an improvement over the tired shawls and burlap sacks the other Stylists from Eight would turn out. They're still dazzling, but not new. Fashionista has decided to recapture our imagination, and I'm in utter awe. Gaia and Calico move around the chariot, not from their own accord, but from the huge machine they're connected to, an enormous loom. They're dressed in simple brown t-shirts and shorts, but then loom starts to weave fabric of every color around them. It's simply awe inspiring. It would take me ten years to get bored of this, and Fashionista will probably change what is woven around them to spice it up. This year it's a conglomeration of every color known to man. Gaia is smiling thinly, trying to not show her fear of being flung around the machine, while Calico is on the verge of tears and looks like he wants to run and hide. It's a shame that such a marvelous contraption and outfit idea must be wasted on two...lacking...tributes.

Nine clops out next, drawn by two palominos. Cravat is the oldest Stylist and has been doing it for an astounding twenty years straight. His designs have lacked vigor recently, but that's surely changed for him this year. Sage and Luke stand in the chariot dressed in outfits crafted of swirls of blue, green, white, and brown fabric that shift and morph and change shades. It's obvious that they're dressed as Mother and Father Earth. Sage waves enthusiastically, smiling wide and playing off the crowd. Her sister is a well known poster child, she probably learned some tips from her. Luke is quiet and immobile, not even smiling, his eyes and jaw hard set and his muscles tensed. He looks imposing, and I'm guessing that's the image he's going for. If so, it's working.

Ten comes out of the tunnel, lead by two black steeds. Powder's a nice girl, she's my second cousin actually, and I love her, but she's gotta. Get. Over. The. COWBOYS! Sure, they are cool for the first four years. Last year, they were okay. This year, they're just sort of boring. Yeah, it is more menacing than a cow or a fluffy rabbit or whatever else you'd dress up someone from Ten. But still. It's like Glitzya and her trees, Fashionista and her multi fabric outfits. Time to move on. Miriam and Rufus stand together at the front of the car but don't touch in any way. Miriam is trying to looking strong and she's actually pulling it off rather well, she's the most intimidating thirteen year old I've ever seen, no sarcasm. Rufus smiles lightly at the crowd and waves a little. He doesn't seem very memorable in my opinion, like a Bloodbath, but it's always the least memorable ones who slip through the cracks and make it to the end sometimes.

Eleven is the next chariot to come out, its chariot hooked up to two chestnut coated horses. I'm absolutely _mortified._ Everyone's heard about Ygga Tossel's big breakup with her fiancee Alehenia Marcusso, but I didn't think it hit her this hard. She still has to do her goddamn job! She's literally put poor Soya and Omri matching burlap sacks, stamped with the words _VEGETABLES_ in big, bold, black print. No makeup, no hair styling, no other accents. Literally just a burlap bag. With the words vegetables on it. _Awe-inspiring._ Anyway, Soya and Omri don't seem to realize how horrid they look, or at least they're trying to make the best of their situation. Soya waves happily and is laughing the whole time, and Omri smiles calmly and waves a little shyly. Oh my Snow, how much perseverance these two children have. They should be given the Panemian Medal of Freedom just for doing what they've done.

Twelve is the last chariot out, headed by two roan stallions. I'm already ready to pack up my bag, setting my martini glass down. Better get out early to avoid the foot traffic. It's just going to be the same old, the miners that look exactly the same. Then I remember. Amazingus Amarillo took over from Peachie Arden. There's not going to be any more miners. I sit back down. Never have heard of this Amazingus kid. I wonder what he's done-

 _HOLY MOTHERFUCKING GREAT GRANDMOTHER OF SNOW THEY'RE NAKED!_

They're-they're-this is a crime to fashion! THIS IS A CRIME TO FASHION! But why is everyone shouting in glee and approval?! Gaylord has a thin scrap of black cloth over his genitals and is otherwise naked, his body dusted in coal dust. It's practically porn! But then, that's not the worst part. THE PREGNANT CARMEN GIRL?! She's naked too! Black scraps over her breasts and her crotch, and her huge baby bump IS PAINTED LIKE A GEM. IN A SEA OF COAL! IT'S SHINING! It's admittedly pretty cool. BUT WHY WOULD YOU SEND PEOPLE NAKED OUT INTO THE PUBLIC EYE?! That's just wrong!

"Why aren't you laughing, Marionette?! This is even better than the golden trees from Seven!" Adoria giggles.

Sometimes I don't think I fit in with these people, but then I laugh to myself. When you're President Snow's niece...if I didn't fit in, let's just say I'd be dead by now.

* * *

 **A/N: I hope that was good! I seriously love Marionette XD She's a fun character for sure. Suddenly just made her Snow's niece, but welp, that's just what happened so deal with it XD**

 **Nice quick update, hope it wasn't rushed! :D I think that's my first time having 2 updates in 1 day. :D**

 **Celtic noted that we only really saw 12 tributes with the Stylists. That's because the 12 not highlighted in those pieces (Bernie, Zircon, etc.) will be given quick, similar-length Countdown POVs before the Games begin. :)**

 **So, thoughts overall? Best outfits? Worst outfits? XD**

 **Marionette (1 pt.): What did Marionette say Soya & Omri should be given for wearing the sack outfits?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	38. The First Night

**A/N: I'm back! I tried to work on my other stories but then I got sick and I just have not been up to writing lately, but then I got back on track and this chapter got done! :D Today we're revisiting Zircon O'Dile, Millard Vaith, and Ivy Cross! :D Enjoy!**

 **Trigger Warnings: Profanity, mentions of prostitution, alcoholism**

* * *

 _We are high_

 _I'm in love_

 _We are high_

 _Small town American light_

 _We are fine_

 _Feeling grown up_

 _And I'm in love_

 _And I'm crashing in your arms_

 _You right in the sky tonight_

 _East side is a paradise of you_

 _You, you_

* * *

 ** _Zircon O'Dile, 17_**

 ** _District One Male_**

It's not wearing off. It'll never wear off. I think I'm going to be light headed and grinning for the rest of my life.

I have one of the crystals from the chariot parade costume cupped in my palm as we ride up the short way to our giant hotel complex that encompasses the whole first floor above the lobby. I see Trinity looking at it, and I pull a second out of my pocket and hand it to her.

"For memory's sake," I say with a light, teasing smile, and she rolls her eyes but a hint of a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. I'm flabbergasted! I'd never thought I'd get a reaction out of the ice queen, not to mention a smile, not even in my wildest dreams.

But that was seriously _wicked._ We were the belles of the ball in our waterfalls of crystals that seemed to be leaping off of our bodies, glittering and reflecting the multicolored spectacles of light that dominate the Capitol at this time of year. We were giant kaleidoscopes, showering everyone with warm honey glow in a variety of rainbow shades while I did my excited thing and Trinity did her icy queen thing. We literally shone and I can't thing of a better outcome from the parade. Junova really did give us the jump start we need to hit the ground running when we get into the Games, and I'm thankful for that. Thank god we don't have stylists like the ones from Eleven or Twelve. I still would've smiled if I was in a potato sack like the Eleven kids did, though. At least they have some respect for how the Games are played, and they aren't just cowering or crying or trying to be strong like so many other Outliers. Unless you're a Career or you're Oxen Bamby, you're not going to pull off the dark, brooding, mysterious, and strong type, no way, no how. That's what usually happens, at least. But in a year with THE Zircon O'Dile and his sidekick slash enemy, the icealicious fear mongering Empress Vegas, I doubt things are not going to happen how they usually do.

"Why are you laughing?" Trinity mutters as the elevator doors glide open. Her tone is clipped and short, the crystal from the chariot outfits stowed in the crystalline hand purse that Junova let her keep. The crystal's gone and she's back to business. I like almost-smiling, airy Trinity better.

"Oh nothing," I sigh in reply, trying to tamp down the foolish grin on my face. I'd like to stay happy, but Career Mentors are notorious for drilling their Mentees every night and every day; practically every moment they have alone with them. Once we step into the room, Esquiria stands from the table where she's been doing some sort of paperwork, her mouth set in a firm, disapproving line. Even I couldn't crack that emotionless grimace. Behind her, Iono is poised in front of the paperwork as well, sighing and tapping at a holographic calculator projected from some fancy looking silver bracelet clamped on his wrist. An Avox deposits more paperwork next to him, and Iono shoots the poor girl an ugly glare and shoos her off. Why would they have to do paperwork? As I get closer, I see the word stamped in bold black letters across the tops of each paper. _Sponsorship Forms._ Ah. That makes sense. Good thing there's lots of them, just for us.

Someone rises from the couch in the living room, and I watch as the colossal Kenyan Rudd, my Mentor, stands up. His enormous body, bulging with muscle, rivals that of Brick and Oxen and myself. Ha ha. Wish I was that ripped. But as I watch him stride over to me, I feel that faint tug of icy cold fear in the pit of my stomach, the same thing I felt in my goodbyes. It's fleeting, but it's still there.

Kenyan's dark skinned face breaks into a big smile, and my fears are totally gone. He didn't talk much on the train, but now that it's one on one time, I remember that he's a nice, welcoming sort of dude. I also see another man stand up from the couch; the pale skinned, dark haired Soren Bronzen, our District's latest Victor from the Nineteenth Games who looks like he was steeped in goth. People say that's just his Capitol approved angle but I don't buy it, he legitimately seems like a depressed emo sort of kid. I don't see many of those around the Academy or One in general, but I still know their type. Nothing bad really, they're just not the most...enjoyable people out there when it comes to the type of lifestyle I'm accustomed to living.

I expect Soren to tail us as Kenyan and I walk over to the elevator since that's where Kenyan is heading, but he doesn't. He doesn't follow Trinity and Esquiria into one of the rooms adjacent to the dining room, a sitting room. He sits down across from Iono and starts working on the sponsorship forms. Huh. Math. Hilarious.

Kenyan clicks open the elevator, and we step inside. I see the envelope tucked in the pocket of his dark gray suit coat, but I don't say anything, just seeing the end of a cursive _n_ peeking out from the confines of the pocket. It looks oddly familiar but I just shake my head. No way. I'm just being crazy since I'm still jacked up on adrenaline, high on my lease of life. It can't be...can it? No way...it has to be, doesn't it?

We ride all the way up, up, up until the elevator stops and the doors click open. The sticky warm summer air of the Capitol hits my face. The strobing lights of the Capitol dance parties that have poured out onto the streets flash across my line of sight, and the buildings around us, sleek and metallic and modern and stunning, curve and rise like something out of a sci fi movie. Despite the light pollution I can see so many stars it's insane above me, more than I could see when we went on our survival camping trips in the mountains to sharpen our survival skills on the weekends back in One. I don't know how they do it, but it sets a mood of wonder and miracles and love and happiness and ecstasy and union and patriotism and activity-

"I don't know you well yet, Zircon," Kenyan mutters. "But it seems like you're running from something. Here's this letter from someone back home; he personally dropped it off at the Victor's Village for me to give to you. We can talk strategy tomorrow. See you." Kenyan flashes a small smile before entering the elevator again and disappearing when the doors snap shut. I squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to look at the letter. It can't be...it's just from my sister or something like that to pump me up, isn't it? Oh, stop be such a child, Zircon! Even if it is from him, it doesn't matter. You'll just read it like a big boy! The ice inflates my stomach until I can't feel anything else, and I open my eyes slowly, my hands quivering as I hold the envelope. I read the name on it.

 _Zircon._

Of course. I thought that the name on it would reveal everything, but it doesn't, it's my name of course. I just chuckle to myself. Stupid, stupid Zircon. I slide my finger under the flap and tear it, then pulling out the thin sheet of paper inside. I unfold it, ready to see what Mom has to say-

"My Love, Zircon. It's so hard for me to do this to you," I read out loud, stunned. It is from him. It is from Tomas.

I crumple the letter without reading another word and toss it off the side of the building, watching it flutter to the ground so many stories below. Then I stand there with the sickly sweet heat encompassing me and I let the ice and the tears shimmering in my eyes melt away. No more. He won't hurt me like this any more. I won't be that stupid Career that gets lost in love back home and loses their life because of it. What Tomas did was...considerate, not wanting me to be distracted by thoughts of seeing him again and spending time with him again. But he could've talked to me. He could've come and said goodbye. He didn't have to say it all in a goddamn letter! I'm happy I didn't read it, that I didn't hang onto it, or I'd never be able to keep my mind off of him here. Now I'm free.

With that freedom, I'm going to give everyone in these Games _hell._ In a fun loving way, of course. Winkwink.

* * *

 _Blood still stains when the sheets are washed_

 _Sex don't sleep when the lights are off_

 _Kids are still depressed when you dress them up_

 _And syrup is still syrup in a sippy cup_

 _He's still dead when you're done with the bottle_

 _Of course it's a corpse that you keep in the cradle_

 _Kids are still depressed when you dress them up_

 _Syrup is still syrup in a sippy cup_

* * *

 ** _Millard Vaith, 18_**

 ** _District Three Male_**

I lay in silence on my bed, staring at the ceiling of this expansive bedroom that they've given to me. Fuji was all smiles and gasps when they showed her room to her; she said her entire house was nearly the size of the large sleeping room. It was about the same size as my room back home, just a little better furnished. I couldn't sleep. I wanted some variety, but of course there was no variety here, in this room. I didn't want to be angry. I didn't want to be anything. But whenever I was about to fall asleep is when I would mull over the day's events and the choices I'd made. Right now, that intermittent period between waking and sleeping was stretching from horizon to horizon, and I didn't want to think about today. I had to leave that all behind if I wanted to keep my head in the game.

Of course, I'm not going to be able to ignore it. I keep feeling Connor's lips all over me, and I keep seeing my sneering father and my mother's lost, wild gaze as she tries to stall to hear my forgiveness. I keep feeling the bittersweet redemption of telling my parents how I really feel. I keep seeing my mother, again and again, with that open mouth and pleading eyes, waiting for some sort of closure so she can live happily once I'm gone. I didn't give it to her. Life isn't all happy endings and closure filled moments. One moment you're alive, the next you're dead. You don't tie up all of your loose ends even if you can. I love my mother, but she hurt me. She forced me to be a plastic doll of a son, emotionless and loveless and depressed. She was never there for me. She was never a parent, same thing with my father. My father might've lashed out in the goodbyes room, but my mother's been just as bad. Whenever gay people are brought up she gets a sour look on her face. They hurt me. It's not selfish to not give them closure. Oh well, I guess it is. But I don't care.

My thoughts start to stray to future ponderings, of a weeping mother and a screaming father and a suicidal Connor after I cut it on live television. Then those sorrowful images lead to thoughts of how I will die and at the hands of whom or what, and I can't take it anymore. I throw the covers off of myself, tumbling out of my bed and stumbling over to the door. I yank it open and tip toe out into the living room, collapsing on the long, plush, cream colored couch that circles the perimeter of the room. I reach over to grab a blanket or a pillow to make myself even more comfortable, and my hand lands on warm flesh.

"Holy mother of Snow!" I yell, jumping up. The lights flick on as Takami waddles out of his bedroom, and Luizy's snores drift from her room. The lights shine on a just as startled Fuji, who has her hand wrapped around the long, thin, shiny remote, her finger poised over the power button.

"Is everyone alright?" Takami mumbles, rubbing his eyes, obviously having been deep in his sleep. I hear other noises in his room, but I choose to ignore them. Didn't think Takami would be the type to take a Capitol whore, but then again I don't know anything about him except that he knows how to kill people and did so several times during the length of his Games. So I better be ready to learn from him.

"Yeah, you can go back to bed," Fuji replies. "We just can't sleep and thought we'd watch a movie."

"Alright," Takami grumbles. "Keep the volume down low." A girl staggers out of the room next to him. "Come on, Emma, let's go back to bed." He knows the whore's name? Maybe he's a more sentimental type. But when he holds her hand tight like she's all his, and not in a sensual way, in a loving, caring way, I guess it's his girlfriend or something like that. Good for him, I guess. I don't know if I could put up with being the significant other of a Victor, who are usually at least half neurotic and have weird mannerisms and flashbacks and other worrying abnormalities. Oh wait. I'll have to be one of those neurotic people if I want to win the Games.

"So we're actually watching a movie?" I ask Fuji when she turns on the large flat screen TV that takes up almost an entire wall across from us.

"Of course. What were you thinking when you came out here?"

"I wanted a change of scenery. The bedroom reminds me of my bedroom from home."

"Too many steamy sexual memories from that place with Connor?" she says lightly, her brow quirked and her mouth smirking.

"Reminds me of my stupid ass parents." That straightens her out real quick. She doesn't ask, pulling up the movie listings.

"Which category?" she inquires, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I'd imagine a good rom-com chick flick would cheer me up right now," I sigh, running my hand through my hair.

"Oh," Fuji mutters. "I was thinking a hard core action film, if that's alright."

"Whatever you want, I'll be trying to fall asleep anyway. We do have training in the morning."

"Right. Well, watching TV at night usually does lull me to sleep. When we get enough electricity in our Sector for TV, that is." She scrolls through the menu and finds the action category, and she taps on the enter button on the remote. A large listing of three dozen Capitol action films fill the screen, all of them sporting actors and actresses with ridiculous names and clothing styles and frivolous names. Like, who names an action movie _James Bond: The Flamboyant Gay Rodeo Cowboy by Day, the Smoking Hot, Still Very Gay Secret Agent by Night, Volume IV_?! Fuji clicks on it anyway.

"What we both want, some comedy and definitely some stuff being blown up," Fuji chuckles as the movie starts. She turns the volume down a little as to not wake Luizy, Takami, and his little girlfriend, and then she sets the remote down.

The two main actor's names, _Frippery Van Schwartsz & Penelopee Elsannam, _fills the screen, and then the director, _Mihckaeylah Tubbman._ These ridiculous names. Then the scene opens with "James Bond" (Frippery) and his sidekick (Penelopee) walking through the busy Capitol streets. There's lots of terrible jokes, mostly references to politicians and places that I've never heard of. Then there's lots of explosions and gore and I fall asleep so quickly it's fantastic. As I'm about to drift off, I hear Fuji snoring softly on the couch next to me, already fully out.

Seems like a certain pair of District partners is going to be watching every Volume of _James Bond: The Flamboyant Gay Rodeo Cowboy by Day, the Smoking Hot, Still Very Gay Secret Agent by Night_ this Pre-Games week. I'm betting Frippery Van Schwartsz won't complain.

* * *

 _I've always been the kind of girl_

 _That hid my face_

 _So afraid to tell the world_

 _What I've got to say_

 _But I have this dream_

 _Right inside of me_

 _I'm gonna let it show_

 _It's time to let you know_

 _to let you know_

 _This is real_

 _This is me_

* * *

 ** _Ivy Cross, 16_**

 ** _District Seven Female_**

I cannot believe what I'm seeing as I stand on the threshold out of my bedroom. I've been too riled up the entire night; if I hadn't been encased in a golden coffin on the chariots, I probably would've looked like an ADHD maniac who just drank a two liter of pop. The second they let me out of that dumb thing, I was hopping around like a bunny rabbit and my mouth was running about how cool everything was until I realized I was talking so much I was being annoying. I have a tendency to talk too much when I'm not around my family, I'm pretty sociable and crazy with friends, but I also know when to reign myself in.

But anyway, I'm too hyped still to sleep for long. Relying on the clock on my bedside table, it's around three A.M. I've been sleeping restlessly for the past couple of hours, waking up sweating and then forcing myself to fall asleep for a little bit until I wake up again. I can't take it anymore, and I was just going to go get a glass of water to steady myself and maybe calm myself down enough so I'll be able to sleep for a couple more hours before I have to get up for the very first day of training, where we'll get to mingle with the other tributes and practice and learn survival and weaponry skills.

Back to the current situation. So I walk right out of my room, and who do I see sprawled out on the floor, a broken bottle of whiskey in hand? My Mentor, cool-as-a-cucumber Paula Eufalu. An Avox is bent over her, trying to wake her without being to harsh. A second is mopping up the trail of bile that covers the mahogany dining room table. Both Avoxes' heads snap upwards when my door creaks open, and we stare at each other for a minute before the one trying to wake up Paula continues to do so, and the one cleaning the table finishes that before walking over to me, cocking his head as to ask for what I want wordlessly.

"A glass of water," I whisper, my voice hoarse and empty. The Avox scuttles off to fill my order, and I just stand there in shock as Paula starts to come around. The Avox stands up suddenly, darting off, and Paula groans, propping herself up on her elbows.

"Avoxesssssss," she slurs. "More wh-whiskey, please!" She slides back down flat on her back and starts to cough loudly, curling up into a little ball. How could such a strong, intelligent woman be so weak and pitiful, too? Paula's been my heroine ever since she won.

The abused girl swung through a redwood forest, throwing hatchets into the skulls of her enemies and coming back from the arena. She's been an advocate for women's rights in the Districts since the beginning, and I've never seen her frown. I've also never seen her smile. And here she is, doubled over on the cold, smooth tile, trying not to vomit up her alcohol again. The woman convulses, and I find myself kneeling beside her.

"P-paula?" I mutter, stroking her short cut, white-blonde hair in worry.

"Have-have my whis-whiskey, Avox?" she hiccups. She obviously thinks I'm a tongueless servant.

One of the Avoxes sets a glass of water on the table for me and makes to hand Paula another bottle of alcohol. Of course they can't defy orders from a superior, even if said superior is intoxicated and hurting herself, lying sprawled on the dining room floor. The Avox bites his lip as he puts the brown glass bottle down by Paula's left hand, and she grabs it greedily, guzzling a few gulps before I pry it out of her eager hands.

"Stop!" Paula gurgles, some excess whiskey she hasn't swallowed sloshing out of her mouth. I stand and drop the half full bottle in the nearby trash receptacle, listening as the automated compactor crunches the glass to bits to make it easier to store and export out of the building and to the dump, wherever that may be. Probably in Four since they're the District that handles sanitation, or at least water sanitation.

"Paula, let's head to bed," I whisper, trying to keep the waver out of my voice. At least I'm not crying. Yeah, Paula's my heroine. She's my idol, the woman I look up to. But I wouldn't ever cry over her. I'm not that obsessed. No, watching Paula curled up on the floor, drunk beyond belief, brings back memories of the other woman that is my heroine, a bigger heroine than Paul Eufalu or anyone else could ever be. Even heroines have their bad moments.

 _I'm six years old, and I watch in horror as my mother slumps against the couch, her eyes glassy and unfocused as they stare at some random spot on the far wall. I scurry to her side, crying a little bit as I hop onto her lap. My mother scowls and shoves me off, sending me sprawled out onto the threadbare rug. She quivers as she lifts the wine bottle to her lips, and then her eyes, suddenly clear, lock onto my cowering form on the ground._

 _"This is a man's world, Ivy," she mutters, clutching the wine bottle to her chest. "I've tried so goddamn hard to make a difference, to change the way things are. But things never change. You'll live in a man's world despite my efforts, Ivy. Every woman will live in a man's world." She sighs, her breath shaky and rattling, and she curls up on the old dark brown couch, sipping more wine straight from the bottle. I run out of the room as fast as I can. This woman isn't my mother. She's someone else entirely._

I stand up from Paula's side as the memory fades from my head, and I bolt into my room, holding back the tears. Never again. Never again.

* * *

 **A/N: I hope that was a good read! I really love writing all three of these characters and I can't wait to work with them more!**

 **The next update should be by Friday hopefully!**

 **So, thoughts overall? Favorite POV here? Have your thoughts on any of the tributes changed?**

 **Zircon (1 pt.): Where did Zircon read the letter from Tomas?**

 **Millard (1 pt.): What is the name of the movie he and Fuji watched? (You can do the first couple of words, the acronym, or the whole goddamn thing if you really want to! XD)**

 **Ivy (1 pt.): What was Paula's arena?**

 **AHH MORE THAN 500 REVIEWS YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST BY THE END OF THIS WE WILL HAVE MORE THAN 1,000 GASP**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	39. The First Morning

**A/N: SIKE! Ha ha! XD Not the first day of training, my friends. The first morning! Every tribute is getting 2 Pre-Games POVs; one from training, and one from some other random time during the Pre-Games, which will mostly be these mornings and evenings. If the Reapings & Chariot Rides happened on a Sunday, the Games will then start on a Sunday. And guess what! We also have to check in with our friends, the Mentors! Since they're mine their POVs will vary in length and depth, but you'll want to read them since they'll be check ins with possibly your tribute(s) depending on what Districts they're from. Enough rambling! Onto the story! Enjoy your read! Today we have one tribute, Sage Alumius, along with a Mentor, Woof Parsons from Eight. Enjoy!**

 **Trigger Warnings: TBD**

* * *

 _We can build a tree house in the pine trees_

 _We can keep our secrets buried underneath_

 _Wild flowers crash between your fingers_

 _Clinging to the wild things that raised us_

 _Compass points you home,_

 _Calling out from the east_

 _Compass points you anywhere_

 _Closer to me **  
**_

* * *

 ** _Woof Parsons, 21_**

 ** _Victor of the 17th Annual Hunger Games & District Eight Mentor_**

Uriah hobbles out of his room, bleary eyed and exasperated when he spots Gaia and I sitting at the breakfast, munching on breakfast thoughtfully as we plot for breakfast. Uriah snaps his fingers at the Avox serving us and points to Calico's door, signaling him to go wake up his charge. The Avox bows his head respectfully before darting over to the door and slipping inside the room. A couple of moments later, the Avox slips out, and soon after that Calico emerges, just as grumpy and apathetic as his Mentor. He tugs on his tight black training outfit in discomfort once he sits down at the table next to Uriah and across from Gaia and myself. Gaia's also wearing the almost rubbery black training uniform, a silvery _8_ stamped on their chests, sides of their shoulders, and napes of their necks on the rich black shirt. Gaia seems pretty comfortable in hers, too engrossed in our planning and the delicacies spread before her to care about her clothes.

"So, I can't stress this enough, survival skills are essential," I murmur before snapping a piece of crisp bacon in half and chewing on one end. Once I swallow, I say, "Water always comes first. Food and shelter can wait. Water is the most essential thing. Depending on the arena, shelter may come before food."

"So I shouldn't spend much time at edible plants?" Gaia replies quietly, gobbling up some cantaloupe excitedly, but looking a little disappointed by the prospect of skipping the aforementioned station. "Like you know I love botany and I'd love to learn more, you know?"

"Yeah, I get it," I mumble, eating the other part of my bacon strip. "Just don't spend all of your time there. You've got to learn some other skills too. I'd suggest looking into that blowpipe, like how to wield and make one. Focus on that, another survival skill, and then edible plants too if that's where you want to go."

"It is where I wanna go," she affirms, biting her lip. "Might as well have fun, eh?"

"Ex-exactly," I stutter back, almost choking on the corner of toast in my throat. Uriah's sullen gaze is also locked on Gaia now. She looks up at me, confused.

"Did I do something wrong?" she inquires innocently, stabbing a cube of watermelon and mashing it to a pulp in her mouth, some juice dribbling down her chin. She dabs it away with a nice silken napkin, which she shakily puts back on her lap.

"I-it's, um, eh..." I trail off.

"It's the thing Woof said to me on his first day of training," Uriah grunts. "Don't get hysteric, Parsons. Don't believe silly omens, my boy."

"Might as well have fun, eh?" Calico squeaks from his seat, where he's cutting expertly and politely into a bagel so he can put cream cheese on it. "See? Doesn't do anything. I'm still probably going to die anyway. So yeah. Myth debunked."

A retort bubbles in my throat, but I push it down. The kid's still in shock; if he's still dead set on dying by Private Sessions, then it'll be time to talk to him Woof. Obviously Uriah is a great fit for the kid, encouraging his tendencies to mark himself as a Bloodbath. Give it time, Woof. Give it time.

Silence falls like a thick cloak over the table, blocking everything else out. My hands are a little unsteady as I try to spear some honeydew, and I meet Uriah's stern gaze, his dark brown eyes smoldering with worry. He might be an asshole, but he's my Mentor and one of my only friends. He's usually less grumpy and much more nerdy when there's no tributes involved. When he has to take care of kids, though, he turns into a cranky guy who acts like he's a grandfather and he already seems like one; his hair is starting to fall out, and his face bears the first wrinkles. He is in his 40s, but he looks older than that here. He looks like some old miser back in Eight who yells at the urchins who sleep too close to the porch of his apartment complex.

Once we're done with breakfast, we have around a half hour or so until the tributes have to get down to the training facility in the basement of the Tribute Hotel. We like to be fashionably early, around ten minutes so, so we have about fifteen to twenty minutes until we have to depart. Calico claims the living room, flicking through channels and guffawing at the strange people on the screen talking about scandals and things not appropriate for a fourteen year old to be listening to, but I better not bother him. If he wants to survive the Games, he's going to see worse than wife beatings or sex scandals. Uriah teeters off back to his room to freshen up and get away from the rest of us, and Gaia and I stay seated at the table, ignoring the loud noise from the TV and Calico's chuckles.

Gaia fumbles with her already braided hair, done by the Avox this morning, and it comes loose. She swears quietly under her breath and tries to fix it herself, but her hands are shaking too much; she's obviously pretty nervous and jittery for her first day of training as she should be.

I kneel down behind her and take her long dark brown hair in my hands, expertly braiding it. My younger sister, Twill, always needed her hair braided after my mother left our family for her side guy, leaving my father to support two young kids. I push those memories away; they're not important. My mother's dead from lung cancer, and my father and my sister live happily in the Victor's Village with me, or at least as happily as they can. Twill's even engaged. They're the reason I fought so goddamn hard to get home, so I could be with them. They were my motivation. I wonder what Gaia's is as I braid her hair.

"Tell me, Gaia, why do you want to go home?" I whisper.

"For my little brother and sister, Bobbin and Satin, and my mother. My father died a while ago." Ah. So she's in a similar situation. There's so many parallels between us. I wonder...

"What else, Gaia? You know you can trust me, honey."

"For myself," she mutters, squeezing her eyes shut. I finish the braid and tie it off.

"Exactly. For yourself." I don't have to say more.

* * *

 _I had a dream that the sun in the sky_

 _Was feeling so lonely, he started to cry_

 _The rain on our windows kept us inside_

 _All of the morning, and into the night_

 _Alone in my dream room, I want to love you_

 _Alone in my dream room, my body above you_

 _I'm just a man on the moon_

 _I'm not coming down anytime soon_

 _I'm just a man on the moon_

 _Feet off the ground, I'm floating in you_

* * *

 _ **Sage Alumius, 15**_

 _ **District Nine Female**_

I wander through the field of fuzzy, pastel colored flowers that go up to my knees, their comfortingly sweet smell tickling my nostrils. I pluck a butter yellow one out of the ground, tucking it behind my right ear. I pick up another flower, and this one morphs into a huge dandelion, the little furry seed pods that float in the window all gleaming and made of solid gold. I blow with gusto, and the dandelion explodes, the hundreds of golden shards, almost, of the seeds eclipsing everything in the light lavender colored sky. They start to rain back down to earth as peaceful pinks and purples and blues and silvers, and I sway carefully through the sea of flowers, a bright smile on my face. I pluck dozens out of the ground, forming a terrific bouquet.

I hear noises ahead, and I look up to see my friends, lead by Aluma, wandering the field nearby, looking for me with big, goofy grins on their faces. My parents and Rini flounder along nearby, Rini throwing handfuls of rose petals everywhere and my parents holding hands as they survey the land around them in absolute wonder. Even Claudius Templesmith and his family are there, Claudius chasing after Rini as they giggle, and Mr. and Mrs. Templesmith taking pictures of everything with their bulky black cameras, the white camera flashes sending patterns spiraling through the air. It's magical.

Then my friends come close, and they start to point and laugh. What? What are they laughing at? Claudius starts laughing, too, while Rini looks dismayed, starting to cry quietly. Mr. and Mrs. Templesmith are chuckling as they snap pictures of me. What the hell is wrong that they're all laughing or crying. My parents look at me disapprovingly, picking up Rini and then floating off into the lavender skies until they're so far gone I can't see them anymore. They're...they're leaving me?! My hands ball into fists as the others crowd around me, and then all the kids from school, all my co-workers at the lab's fields, every urchin I've seen on the street, every teacher I've ever had, even Unity and Luke and Cravat and my Prep Team are here. And they're all laughing, calling me names, crying from whatever is _so_ hilarious about what I am doing. I'm not doing anything! I'm just standing here!

"You look so ridiculous!" Aluma leers, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. What...what am I doing?!

The skies turn blood red in an instant, and a glass tube, thick and soundproof, rises around me. I can't hear anything any longer, and everyone's stopped laughing. I see a thousand pairs of eyes filled with utter fear as with a wave of my hand, the sea of pastel wildflowers suddenly catches fire. I watch them scream and cry and try to run as the flames soar higher and higher, consuming them all, and I'm screaming, slamming my fists against the glass over and over until it breaks, thick shards slicing into my palms, blood flying everywhere as the fire leaps forward, engulfing me as I scream and spasm-

"Ms. Alumius," a hollow mechanical voice beeps. I sit up in bed, sweating bullets as I look around wildly, swiping my hands up and down my arms. I can still feel the fire licking at my limbs, the horror filled eyes of my friends as the flames encompassed them, the fleeting image of my family leaving me to be heckled at as they faded into the lavender colored sky. I let out a rattling breath, suppressing tears of confusion, as I look up at the Avox before me. She holds a small box in her hands, which seems to be able to speak for her. She looks at me in similar confusion, kneeling beside me. I expect her to speak again through the box, but she doesn't. I look at its glassy face and see the time floating there in greenish holographic numbers. It's just an alarm clock, specifically set to wake me.

I smile weakly at the Avox and climb out of the sweat soaked sheets, sighing. She points to the adjacent bathroom, and then at the pile of Capitol approved training clothes that I'm expected to wear to training. Ah, training starts today! I'm honestly a little excited. I can meet new people and make some allies and hear all about the other Districts and learn how to wield weapons or survive off of the land. It should be a good time.

As I climb into the shower after shedding my silky lavender pajamas that the Avox gave me last night, I can't stop thinking about my dream. What was that? I had one of my signature outbursts of passion, and everyone was set alight and even though it was fake, I watched everyone I know die except for my family, but they abandoned me. I'm not generally a superstitious person, but an insane dream like that must mean something.

Once I'm out of the shower, I've calmed down a little, the warm water having lulled me into a better state of being, washing away some of the terror from my hybrid of a dream and a nightmare. I slip on the stretchy black pants and shirt made of some special athletic fabric I'm guessing to increase mobility. Silvery _9_ 's are stamped on my chest, shoulders, and nape of my neck, and I trace the one on my chest contemplatively for a moment before I tie up my strawberry blonde hair with a dark purple hair tie I find among dozens of hair ties in the bathroom. I walk back over to the bed, finding a pair of black socks and a pair of black and silver tennis shoes. I put them on quickly as my stomach gurgles for food before stepping out of my room and walking over to the table.

A sort of groggy Unity sits at the table, sipping from a mug of steaming coffee. Luke eats slowly and quietly, alert and fully awake, trying to pace himself and be polite although his eyes are alight at the variety of foods piled at the table. He said he's from the villages even though his skin is paler than mine, but I guess not everyone's darkskinned out there. Anyway, the village kids don't get lots of food usually. Neither do the city kids. Wow. No wonder Nine sucks at the Games. Our Escort, Patrisa, is dressed in a simple dark purple dress with green accents that goes well with her strangely colored lilac skin and green hair. She smiles welcomingly at me, delicately nibbling at a croissant as she looks over some sponsorship forms piled before her. There's not a lot, but there's enough that it surprises me.

"Nine's always a hot spot for betters who like to bet on the unexpected winners," Unity announces cheerily. "And with you two being the best pair I've had in probably a decade, we have even more betters than usual. Not that we have a lot, per say, but we have more than some Districts like Three or Six or Ten thru Twelve, usually."

"And...usually, we get lots of sponsorships from people trying to shake up the betting tables for whoever will die first or whoever dies in the Bloodbath," Patrisa whispers. "You know, 'cause we usually have crap kids that die in the Bloodbath, so lots of people bet for one or both of our kids to die first."

"Oh that's terrible," I mutter, astonished, but not really that astonished when I think about it. Of course Capitolites would bet on who will die first.

I pile lots of pastries onto my plate along with some bacon, sausage, and fruit slices. I try to pace myself as well like Luke, and I find myself full before I'm even halfway through all the foods I have selected to try. They're all so good. I guess I shouldn't pile anymore in, though, I can't puke in training.

"Yeah, you guys should probably lay off the food until after training," Unity comments good naturedly, not judging or anything. "We had this kid in the 10th Games. He ate so much food that he threw up everywhere in the training center during the Gauntlet. It's no surprise he cut it in the Bloodbath. That was when they used to do the Gauntlet, however. They scrapped that test about six years ago if I'm right, Patrisa?

"Yeah. That was rough. It was a giant obstacle course and if you didn't make it across you couldn't score higher than an 8," Patrisa announces, finishing her croissant and picking up a slice of juicy pineapple. "Lots of kids got hurt doing it, so they cut it."

"Interesting," I reply, setting down my cutlery. I look over at Luke, who's starting at the half eaten jelly donut on his plate thoughtfully. He hasn't said a single word since he sat down at this table. I wonder if he's scared, or if he's just not a talkative kid. "So what should be work on at training?"

"Usually I tell kids to do whatever they think will help them, to relax and have fun," Unity sighs. "That's because my kids usually don't have a chance even if they work as hard as they can every single day in training. Now you two have an actual shot. Split your time between survival skills and a weapon. Choose something common, like daggers or throwing knives, or something familiar. Sickles are usually in most Cornucopias since they're easier to wield and carry and lots of Outliers can use them, same with daggers, making the Games more interesting. Focus on water and shelter and food; things like snares and knot tying can come after you perfect those skills, they're secondary to finding and purifying water, building a shelter, and edible plants and insects."

"Good to know," I murmur with a smile. Luke just nods a little, not looking at any of us.

"Oh, look! We have five minutes till training starts!" Patrisa whines. "I lost track of the time! Darlings, we must go!" She stands hurriedly, walking as fast as she can over to the elevator. Luke and I spring up after her, climbing in along with her, Unity entering soon after us.

"To training!" I say with a big smile on my face, and Unity laughs a little. I think of my nightmare, of the good laughs turning to bad laughs, the peaceful meadow turning to a fiery hell. My smile disappears, but comes back quickly. It's just a dream, Sage. Calm down.

* * *

 **A/N: I hope this was good! Next chapter will be the first day of training! I'll do training like this. Each chapter will be an alliance. So for the next two chapters, we have the Careers all in one chapter, and the alliance of Miriam and Jayce in the other. The next training day might be half of the non-allied and another alliance, and so on. Just an FYI :)**

 **Who did you like better here, Woof or Sage? Thoughts changed on either of them?**

 **Trivia:**

 **Woof (1 pt.): What is the name of his sister?**

 **Sage (1 pt.): What color is the sky in her dream?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	40. Training Day 1: Careers

**A/N: Today we're knocking out the biggest alliance in these Games, the six tribute, fear mongering pack called the Careers! Trinity, Zircon, Ardin, Tyberios, Cordelia, and Chavez will all be featured today in a humongous chapter! I'm sorry if the lengths are a little inconsistent, I'm just writing a decent amount at the least for everyone, and if there's more it's just because I need that extra length to explore that character that much. I'm trying to keep this as fair as possible but honestly it's not always going to turn out that way XD**

 **AND THERE IS A CAMEO FROM ONE OF OUR FAVORITES FROM OCEANSIDE PLEASE TELL ME THOSE OF YOU WHO READ OCEANSIDE WILL RECOGNIZE HIM**

 **PLATRIUM I KNOW YOU'RE BEHIND BUT I CANNOT WAIT UNTIL YOU READ AND SEE THIS SPECIAL FRIEND YOU WILL DIE FROM JOY**

 **Anyway! Enjoy your reading! XD :D**

 **Trigger Warnings: Profanity and Tracee low-key shipping most of the Careers XD**

* * *

 _What's wrong with being, what's wrong with being_

 _What's wrong with being confident?_

 _What's wrong with being, what's wrong with being_

 _What's wrong with being confident?_

 _It's time to get the chains out_

 _Is your tongue tied up?_

 _'Cause this is my ground_

 _And I'm dangerous_

 _And you can get off_

 _But it's all about me tonight_

* * *

 ** _Trinity Vegas, 18_**

 ** _District One Female_**

"Welcome, tributes, to your first day of Training," a man with skin so dark it almost looks black says, standing proudly in the center of the half circle of tributes gathered around him. We stand at the foot of the Loft, a huge indent in the wall a story up where the Gamemakers sit, feasting and surveying our training to get a scope of how we're progressing through our three days of practice before the Games fully begin. They're stern faced and silent in their blood red smocks, cold eyes locking onto our motley group of Careers and Outliers. In the middle, on almost a throne of sorts, a man with bronze hair, startling silver-blue eyes, and a scowl carved into his face sits. Head Gamemaker Ludum Factorem. He looks more menacing than Esquiria described him as. On his right sits the man who was at the Parade, directing us, Odore something or other, with his frizzy purple hair. And on his left sits a fierce woman with a beak-like nose, magenta tattoos curling around her arms, and dark brown hair interspersed with iridescent streaks. Esquiria told me about her, she's the arena designer. Some that ends with -cily. Sicily? Vecily. Their armada of indifferent faces look down at us, and I absorb all of this in the few moments the Head Trainer pauses in his welcoming speech.

"I am Tautulus Cragmyre, your Head Trainer," the man, apparently Tautulus, continues. My eyes flicker back to him, and I fold my arms across my chest, shooting an icy glare at the nearest Outlier, one of the younger girls. She has white-blonde hair and scars riddling the undersides of her arms, and when I glare at her, she looks back at me indifferently. Ha. Such audacity. She should know she's playing with fire.

"Today, your first of three training days will begin. Today and tomorrow, you will have free reign of the training room to do whatever you please, even if it is sitting on the floor like a doofus," Tautulus announces. "We will have lunch halfway through the day. On the third day, you will train until lunch, and after lunch is over, the Private Sessions will begin, where you must display at least one skill; you will be graded on it. Attendance is mandatory. We have three general types of stations: weaponry, survival skills, and athleticism. We have a wide variety of weapons, and if you do not see a certain type of weapon in this room, we can most likely pull it out and teach you how to wield it. It is smarter to stick to more common, easier to master weapons such as daggers, throwing knives, or sickles, although you may choose to do any weaponry station, or none at all. Survival skills also have a wide variety of stations, ranging from edible plants to shelter buildings to knot tying, and beyond. These skills will help you learn how to survive in any of the more common wilderness arenas, and are essential if you are going to have to live off of the land for more than a day or two. Our final group of stations is rather small. Athleticism stations include wrestling, weight lifting, rope climbing, the agility course, flexibility, swimming, and running. These stations will help you perfect your athleticism and get you into shape. We have dozens of trainers eager to help you master whatever skill you desire to learn. Just ask whatever trainer is stationed at the skill you want to learn, and they will teach you. There is a limit of three tributes per station, as trainers have a hard time managing more than two tributes at once and will not be able to teach you as adequately. Does anyone have any questions?"

No one speaks up, as I expected. All of the Outliers, no matter how brave they may be, are seeing the big bad Careers standing literally right next to them for the first time besides the parade, but even then none of them came close to us. They look so uncomfortable and I almost want to laugh. The little twelve year old from Five is standing right next to a smirking Zircon, and she looks scared shitless. At least Zircon has some scare factor on a tribute, even if it is a twelve year old.

"None? Alright!" Tautulus shouts. "Training begins now! In five hours, the lunch bell will ring and you'll have lunch, and then you'll have another five hours to train. Go explore, and good luck mastering whatever skill it is you want to learn!" Everyone slowly starts to disperse except for us Careers, who collect in front of Tautulus. He smiles ravishingly at us; he's pretty young, probably in his early 20s. I smirk at him, but he's not looking at me. His eyes are locked on Zircon as he looks up and down the kid, and I just roll my eyes. Of course, all the hot guys are gay in the Capitol. Eh. It's not like I was going to seduce him or anything, just show the others what I can do. Zircon sends him an Academy approved eyebrow waggle, and Tautulus just shakes his head, lifting his head and showing off his shiny golden wedding band before waggling his eyebrows back. He then walks off without another word or action, leaving Zircon giggling uncontrollably. I bite down a smile as Cordelia laughs quietly as well, and Tyberios smiles. Chavez and Ardin look emotionless, however. Maybe I've met my match in these two on how much of a hardass one can be.

"So, the plan?" Tyberios grunts after everyone's calmed down. Chavez and Ardin open their mouths at the same time to start speaking, and they shoot dirty glances at each other. Everything becomes prickly and uncomfortable, and I know I won't be vying for the leader of the pack even though I sort of want to. Ardin's hands ball into fists and she doesn't even notice, and Chavez stares emotionlessly into her eyes, boring into her soul.

"How about we just go have fun and make some Outliers shit their pants?" Zircon announces, and I shoot him a thankful look. He's the only one that can lighten up this situation. Ah, this situation. Of course this pack is going to be dysfunctional just because two of its members are going to grapple over the title of leader, which doesn't really mean anything since Career packs make decisions as a whole. Some packs don't even have a designated leader. But it seems like a special couple of us are superbly interested in being the crown jewel of the pack, and for that I'm already wary of them.

"I second that motion," Cordelia squeaks. She's not even a legitimate Career, but if Chavez doesn't have a problem with her joining, I'm not going to challenge his authority. I don't need a target painted on my back yet. Let him feud it out with Ardin. They'll have a big fight, one of them will die, and the other will be exiled from the pack or killed for their traitorous actions. Then the rest of us who have their heads screwed on straight can make it to the end.

"I'm going to axes," I speak up. "They're my specialty."

"Mine too," Tyberios huffs with a small smile. "Sure you can lift it, pretty girl?"

"Big mistake," Zircon hisses, chuckling again, but I brush off the comment. It's the Academy all over again; I'm going to have to take shit from people because I look like a stupid bottle blonde, like the ones that always die so early in the Games. Bury your reactions and don't let them show how much their words effect you. I just roll my eyes and look around for the axe station, locating it on the far end of the room.

"I'm gonna go to tridents," Cordelia mutters.

"I'll go with you," Zircon proclaims. "I like spears better, but they're essentially the same and we might as well get to know each other." He turns to Ardin and Chavez. "Which weapon is your guys's preferred one, the one you're gonna go practice today?"

"Throwing knives," they say at the same time. Ardin sighs and Chavez looks exasperated. I just wave Tyberios over and we walk over to the axe station. Better to not get caught up in that mess.

The instructor, a strangely buff woman with bubblegum pink hair and lots of piercings named Alayza, is working the axes and hatchets station. An older boy with darker skin, either the one from Six or Seven or Eleven, is inspecting the hatchets, but walks off calmly when Tyberios and I appear at the station. Alayza sits back and watches with glee as we both pick up the thick bladed axes and head towards the dummies. I swing mine through the air, stepping forward and decapitating the nearest dummy. It's made of some strange material that's exactly like skin; they have a few of them at the Academy, they can gel themselves back together once you've destroyed them, you just have to put the pieces in the right places. The insides are made of a gummy blue substance, and the outside is a stretchy, plasticky substance of a light peach color. I place the head back on top of the body, watching as the thing stitches itself back together. Tyberios is obliterating the mannequin next to mine, and he grins as he watches my hack off the thing's arms boldly before sinking my axe deep into its chest.

"Basic bitch has some skills, eh?" he snorts. "Shoulda expected it. It's about time a One girl made a decent try for Victory."

"Why thank you, Basic Ogre Man," I shoot back, rolling my eyes.

"Ogres are awesome. They are giant monsters and they can tear people apart and eat them. Can whiny rich girls do that? At least my stereotype is cool."

"Take away a whiny rich girl's heels, and then you've got a real monster on your hands, Ogre," I chuckle, and he just snorts in laughter again before burying his axe in the dummy's head, cleaving it into two pieces, his muscles rippling as he does so. Too bad I'm going to have to kill Ogre, or we might've actually gotten along in real life.

* * *

 _If we pretend that I'm happy when I'm really not_

 _Pretend that I give you everything I got_

 _Pretend that I'm there when I ain't there_

 _Pretend that I care when I don't care_

 _Once upon a time I did_

 _Now I admit that I was fucking with a kid_

 _Now I pretend that everything's straight_

 _When everything ain't just covered up like paint_

* * *

 ** _Zircon O'Dile, 17_**

 ** _District One Male_**

"Thanks," Cordelia murmurs once we're out of earshot of the others. "That was so damn awkward. Are packs supposed to be like this?"

"I dunno. I didn't get to talk strategy last night," I reply as we march over to tridents, our sneakers squeaking against the smooth tile floor of the training room. I can feel several pairs of eyes on me. Gamemakers for sure. I don't look at them, however, listening to Cordelia.

"How?!" Cordelia gasps. "Like, the moment they pulled me out of that... _outfit_ , Mags tugged me upstairs, sat me down in the living room, and chewed my ear off talking strategy until I literally fell asleep and she carried me to my bed. She kept chattering about which stations to go to and how to act and all that. I listened, sure, but I think she's just nervous 'cause I'm the first non-Academy kid in half a decade and Mags doesn't know how to act."

"You're not from the Academy?" I mutter, looking at her. "I knew you were Reaped, but I just assumed...then how are you in the pack?" She's short and stout and could easily be as dumb as a bag of rocks, and we automatically just accepted her in. I swear, if she's some prankster who doesn't know a trident from a spear, I am going to flip out! With Ardin and Chavez already having a hissy fit over who gets to be the leader, boo hoo, we can't afford to have another flaw.

"Don't worry," Cordelia sighs. "My dad trained me at home in the garage. I'm probably not as good as you guys but I can fend for myself, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make it out, even if that means killing someone like...her." She points at the slim girl from Eleven, who is bent over the firemaking station, rubbing two sticks together hopelessly. She sees Cordelia's finger pointed her way, and she drops her sticks. Cordelia bites back a laugh, and I just chuckle out loud. It's like we're boogeymen or something. Sure, we're trained to kill, but just because we point or look at you doesn't mean you're doomed to die! Well, I guess that anyone who freaks out that much isn't going to last till the end, but still. We could scare them _so_ bad.

"They're so jumpy," I hiss, suppressing more laughter. "How about we point at...that one!" My arm shoots forward and my pointer finger sticks out, shaking as I point at the white-blonde haired Nine boy. He just turns away, shuffling over to the snares station and purposefully not looking back.

"I guess some of them have some constitution," Cordelia grumbles.

"Constitution? Isn't that like some government document thingy? Why would they have that?" I inquire as we near the tridents station.

"Not that constitution," Cordelia mumbles. "It means like, their mettle?"

"Oh," I say, looking down at my shoes. "Sorry. We don't really go to school much after you enter the Academy. Vocabulary isn't the most important thing to the trainers and the Dean, I guess. Don't worry, I'm not an airhead. Well, not most times, at least."

She giggles, and I smile. She's pretty cute, being short and all. Not in a I wanna fuck her way, she's just cute like a puppy or a kitten. Like, I'm gay. News flash! But anyway, I've never thought of a girl as fuckable or anything like that, I just think of them as cute, funny people. With them, I don't have to worry about them thinking I might secretly have a crush on them or that I might fantasize about them. I do that will lots of my male friends.

We walk up to the tridents station, were a man with navy hair and skin tinted aqua stands. He seems delighted when we walk up, and he titters mindlessly as he unlocks the rack of weapons. I ignore his useless words, snatching one of the tridents off of the stand. Cordelia does the same, testing the weight in her hands for a moment before stepping onto the fighting mat located next to the rack where the trainer's been standing. She stands there, holding the trident next to her. It's almost the same height as her, a little taller, and she chose the smallest one on the rack. The trainer giggles as he grabs a trident of his own and takes his stance on the mat, leveling his trident as he stares her down. Despite his seemingly airheadedness, he seems to know how to fight.

"So my name is Fracas, and we're going to fight!" he screeches. "I love the Games, and I was so happy when they chose me to be a trainer, even if it was for tridents-"

Cordelia jabs her trident forward fluidly, and I smile as Fracas stumbles backwards as the blunt tip smacks into his left kneecap. The mat is mostly flat, although there's a few more smaller mats stacked in one corner to simulate a hilly environment. Fracas's words are now nonexistent, his eyes flinty and his mouth set in a firm line as he backs up, taking the high ground as he climbs up a step. Cordelia jabs forward several times again, but Fracas deflects them. They continue to spar for a couple of minutes, not budging much, until Cordelia fakes a jab to his right. He goes to block it, and she shoves her trident to the left. Fracas stumbles and falls off of his higher ground, and Cordelia whirls and smacks the tip of the trident into Fracas's chest as he wheezes. I would've been tempted to do some sort of fancy move, like Soren when he disemboweled an opponent with a sharp section of pipe in his Games. He twirled around the tribute, then did a flip in the air and smacked his length of sharpened pipe into the guy's neck. The guy was already pretty much dead since his arms had gotten torn off by mutts so that's why Soren did it, but it was still cool. I am totally going to finish off my final opponent like that, in my own special way, when I make it to the end.

"Zircon?" Cordelia calls out, breaking me from my haze of thought. "You're up, dude."

I take my stance across from Fracas, whose glittering violet eyes are full of determination. I can't wait to crush that outta him.

* * *

 _Don't break me down_

 _I've been travelin' too long_

 _I've been trying too hard_

 _With one pretty song_

 _I hear the birds on the summer breeze,_

 _I drive fast, I am alone in midnight_

 _Been tryin' hard not to get into trouble,_

 _But I, I've got a war in my mind_

 _So, I just ride, just ride,_

 _I just ride, just ride_

* * *

 ** _Ardin Varnell, 18_**

 ** _District Two Female_**

I don't go to throwing knives. Maybe that's some sort of surrender in Chavez's twisted mind, but I don't know what's up with him. Serephina told me that she and the other Career Mentors, including Oisin, agreed that I'd be the best fit of the six of us to lead, with Trinity being the back up. Chavez was the third option just because of his unpredictability. I don't know if Four is trying to pull a fast one or if Chavez is just being a jerk, but I'm destined to lead this pack. I was given that title from the moment I accepted the offer to volunteer, when the last flourish of the pen ended my signature, putting me into a contract to volunteer for these Hunger Games. He doesn't get to take what he wants. He isn't in his seaside playground anymore, plucking whores by their pussies and doing whatever creepy stuff pedophiles like him do. This is the Capitol, and he'll have to face me if he wants to control this pack.

Of course, I can't let that show. I have to keep the cap on the bottle of my emotions, even though it's fizzing so much from how much Chavez just shook it. I walk to a random weapons station, a small smile on my face, my breathing steady. He won't get to me. He won't ruin me. I was ready for five good coworkers that would respect my position and that would work well with me. The other four are like that, as they should be. Chavez is just the irregularity. Maybe we can nip his antics in the bud. But that would just cause further disharmony, wouldn't it? Frustrating. I'll figure out the right plan, however. I just need time.

I channel my anger by going to the first weapons station I see. It's some weird bladed disc, and the tiny girl from Five is already there, prancing about and almost cutting off her nose as she twirls it through the air while the trainer desperately tries to get her to stop so she won't hurt herself. The little sign plastered onto the unlocked rack of blunt weapons calls them "chakram." To me, they just look like metal frisbees that got the center cut out, and a curvy handle put in instead. I guess when it's sharp in the arena it could be of some use, but anyway, it's just one of those out-there weapons that would never be found in the Cornucopia unless a Career specialized in it and could wreck some serious havoc with it. It's a time waster, but that's the sort of thing I need right now.

Once the trainer manages to get the twelve year old to set down the thing, they both notice me. The girl darts off immediately, scurrying over to the nearby camouflage station, shooting furtive glances my way as the trainer there greets her, pulling out a palette of colorful pastes and paints. The girl's gaze quickly turns to the liquid pigments, and I look up at the trainer, my mouth set in a firm line.

"Know how to use them?" he asks, out of breath from flagging the little girl down. "I'm Henrius."

"No," I whisper. "Didn't focus on weird weapons in the Academy. I doubt they even had these frisbees in the building."

"If you're going to be so critical, don't try them," the trainer mutters, his voice strained with annoyance as he picks up his own disk, snapping it apart into two halves. He guides me throw the steps of how to wield it, and fifty minutes later I sorely wish I would've learned how to wield these things back home at the Academy. I look so badass doing it; even the little twelve year old would look badass. You have a seemingly boring metal disk. It can snap apart or not, and you can be like a whirlwind, slicing and dicing into people are you go. Once I have fathomed the basic technique, I go try to slice into one of the gelatin-like dummies as the trainer shows another curious kid what to do at the station. Apparently it's a new one or something, and it is pretty cool.

Henrius gave me sharp ones to use on the dummies, and I whirl like a ninja as I slice into the dummy, feeling invincible almost as teal goo seeps out where I cut into the rubbery mannequin. I just laugh to myself as I do insanely weird moves, watching as I keep twirling for no reason after I cut into the false human thing. Flecks of the inner gloop flies as I destroy the thing until it's an oozing lump of blue with bits of the peach colored plastic sticking out of the damp mess I've made. Henrius strides over; the other tribute is already gone, not interested in learning how to wield these amazing chakram. He helps me clean up the sodden, messy lump, separating the slices and pieces of the diced up mannequin and lining them up to remake the human shape. They melt together until the thing looks good as new. I've used a couple of these before in the Academy, and they're always so gratifying to destroy and then build right back up again.

Tyberios approaches once we're done cleaning up the fake jello man. His outfit is already damp from sweat, and he has a relaxed smile on his face as he ambles over. I stand up, thanking Henrius curtly for the fun time before walking through the training room with Tyberios. I feel like I'm going to have to rely on him a little to win this power struggle between myself and Chavez, and he seems to already trust me somehow.

"I just wanted you to know that Trinity and I talked about what happened after Tautulus gave his speech. And we both agreed that we'd rather have you lead. I know we weren't besties in the Academy or anything but we did know each other and you know I don't lie often or well at all. We're going to need to depend on you to work with us to somehow get through the Chavez thing without damaging the alliance and lessening any of our odds of winning. It's not a question of if, but when, and I'm sure Zircon and maybe Cordelia will agree. Repeat Two Victors, Varnell. Just remember that. No matter what, this year, it's going to happen."

I nod and smile softly at him. It's a little weird that he's putting all of this trust in me, but I guess he did know I'd be leading him for the past several months after we both got selected to volunteer. He's not as mindless as he may seem, though. He's doing this for the greater good of everyone involved in the alliance, or at least I think so. I did know Tyberios a little back home. He was an honest, hard working kid, even if he was a little weird or slow at times and didn't really hang out with the same types of people as I did. But then again, we're already in the Games from a Career's perspective. He could easily be playing me.

I just shake my head. Getting paranoia on the first day of training?! Not a good idea. Tyberios and I split. He heads to maces while I go inspect the swords station and practice a little bit, steadying myself and pushing all worries and paranoid ponderings from my mind. Take it slow, Varnell. Take it slow.

* * *

 _I'm gonna hide my heart behind the peacock's fan,_

 _And keep my friends real close, yeah, this is how it's gonna go._

 _I'm gonna find my knife and run it through those stitches,_

 _Throw my friends down in the ditches before they even know_

 _what I've come here for._

 _Take the Heartland with a sense of revenge_

 _Take the Heartland and make it look easy_

 _Take the Heartland- you'll die in the end_

 _Take the Heartland_

* * *

 ** _Tyberios Palatium, 18_**

 ** _District Two Male_**

As I walk away from Ardin, I chew my lip, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment. The pain throbs in my head and I curse having to go talk to her. Sure she's my District partner, but speaking more than a sentence to people I'm not close with just agitates my mind sometimes, especially right in the middle of a training session. I look over at Trinity, who's still at axes, and I nod briskly, and she quirks the right corner of her mouth in thanks.

Trinity's the most bearable of them. Whenever we talk it's in short, bantering sentences that keep my adrenaline pumping. Cordelia and Zircon are too chatty and giggly, at least when together. Ardin's having a panic attack because she can't be the queen bee, and Chavez just seems like a cool solo type of dude from a distance, but I'm sure that if I started talking to him he'd rattle off all the reasons why he's the king of the world and he would show me every little nook and cranny of his superiority complex. There's lots of kids like him back in Two, and they're usually the ones that get picked.

I'm on edge this morning, although I'm doing my best to hide it. If I act like an asshole, it will just increase tensions in the group even further, and with Zircon and Cordelia gamboling around and scaring the other tributes and getting a laugh out of it, along with Ardin and Chavez smoldering about lack of clear leadership, Trinity would be the only levelheaded one left. I get like this a lot at home, when Fulmia starts screaming at me for being up so early or when I have to stay at home for the days the Academy is closed so our bodies get a day off from the extensive pressure. The adrenaline from entering the Capitol and the exciting new Training Center around me are fading, and it's just another day at the Academy, but I'm facing neon skinned Capitolites who flinch when I get too rough with the blunt weaponry. It's not like the Academy, with dozens of hungry eighteen year old recruits mauling each other to make it into the Games.

Add that feeling to the fact that the Zorion lasted all through last night and a little into this morning before fading completely, and you have a steaming Tyberios Palatium. The dull ache in the back of my head intensifies with every step that I'm not training, and I jog quickly over to the maces station. All of this drama, it's like we're in those Capitolite soap operas that my Aunt Beatrix watches whenever we go visit her house. There's the basketcases, the squabbling characters who complain about everything and think they're the best, and then there's the sensible leads. Who thought a Career pack could be defined by _Penthouse Blues?_

The mace instructor steps away from the rack after he's unlocked it. I pick out two maces, one longer one with a slimmer head to it, the other shorter with a rounder, fatter head. I twirl both around, testing their air resistance and seeing which one I like better. I choose the longer, slimmer one, and then I turn to the instructor. She's willowy and I have no clue how she can even lift a mace. She tucks a stray strand of lime green hair behind her dark green tinted ear.

"Is there something I could help you with?" she asks politely, staring at my shoes.

"Do you have any moving targets? Like the mannequins, except they fight back and I can pulverize them?" In the Academy we didn't even have these rare high tech machines and I've always wanted to try one. The trainer doesn't even seem to think it's a big deal, striding over to a rack which contains extra mannequins. She looks at the back of several before drawing one out of the rack and dragging it over to the station with surprising strength and speed. She sets the mannequin in front of me. It stands at about my height. She smiles weakly, wiping her brow before standing behind it and toggling with some switch on its back.

"What setting?" the woman inquires, eyes squinting as she messes around with whatever activates the dummy on its back.

"What do ya have?" I ask impatiently, leaning on my mace.

"I have easy, intermediate, and hard." I look at her like she's stupid. "Hard it is, then. What weapon?"

"Sword?" I say questioningly. Sure. Sword. The trainer shouts over to the swords trainer, and he tosses her a sword which she catches with surprising ability. She is definitely more athletic than she looks to be at first, I guess. I don't like people who keep surprises under their sleeve.

"Here you are, Joleen," the swords trainer replies once he's thrown it. He turns back to the tribute he's working with, the dark skinned, buff guy from Eleven if I'm not mistaken. The boy holds a longsword tight in his calloused hands and goes through a basic exercise with the trainer. He's not half bad.

"Done," Joleen peeps. She's fit the silvery sword into the robotic dummy's hands, and she steps back as slits on its face open up, revealing brilliant aqua colored eyes that are probably cameras of a sort to register how I'll fight. Just as I get into my stance, the dummy slashes forward, and I can barely block the blow. It isn't choppy and mechanical as I expected. The machine moves fluidly like a human, taking a step forward and slashing forward again, quickly taking the offense and forcing the defense on me. I deflect its blows, and Joleen watches with an eager grin on her face as the tip of the sword grazes my left elbow. I quickly strike back with vigor, jarring the blade from the thing's hands. I go in for the death blow, but the machine crouches low and attempts to tackle me. I half jump and slam the mace into it's rubbery head as I leap to the side, hearing a satisfying crack. The thing staggers to its feet, picking up its sword, as blue goo trickles down the right side of its head, the impact crater of my mace obvious. Its movements are slurred, just like a person going unconscious, bleeding out. It's easy to shatter its right hand and sending the sword flying again, and I finish off the thing with a tremendous blow to the abdomen. It doubles over, wheezing soundlessly as its good left hand clutches its stomach, where teal goop floods out. It falls to its knees and curls up in a ball, and the menacing aqua eyes shut off with a small snap, the wounded thing shutting off. It starts to stitch itself back together, and it stands, ready to fight once again, its aqua eyes holding no emotion besides a metallic glint.

"Wanna go again?" Joleen asks inquisitively, definitely excited by my bashing off the machine.

"Bring it on," I grunt, grinning devilishly as the thing surges forward, ready to fight once again.

* * *

 _Fit in, fit in_

 _I`m spending nights just dreaming_

 _And playing the music loud_

 _They`re banging on the ceiling_

 _They`re praying that I`ll soon be out_

 _I almost thought of leaving_

 _Get away from the glares and their unfriendly stares_

 _And now I`m all alone_

 _And the telephone teases and dares_

 _I`ll get away from them all (oh oh)_

 _So pride comes before a fall_

 _But I`m not for giving in_

 _Fit in, Fit in_

* * *

 ** _Cordelia Nile, 17_**

 ** _District Four Female_**

I kneel by the table, my fingers working diligently, repeating the pattern they've done a thousand times over hundreds of days since I started working at the marina. It's not like we sell the things made of reed and bone or wire, and they're pretty useless too, but the older guy that used to work with me, Euphrates, taught me how to make them from scraps of things while we were waiting behind the counter, bored out of our minds since no customers would ever come to the little marina to buy bait or to rent a boat. I don't know how the place even stayed open. Anyway, we'd just make thousands of them and then take them apart, almost like tying knots or organizing things, stupid petty work just to pass by the time waiting in that stuffy room. Euphrates left the shop four years ago to go train as a Peacekeeper, and I heard recently that he's been stationed somewhere in Eleven. I then taught my younger siblings the skill when they started working with me soon after.

The instructor, a woman with normal black hair with a body dyed black, apparently named Yin, drums her fingers against the side of the table as she watches me work industriously. Her long, slender black finger nails are glossy under the light, and I find myself distracted by their even, constant motion.

"Why is a Career working at a survival station?" Yin asks, her voice thick with an accent that Mags defined as "Upper Capitol", which is basically just the richest of the rich people in the Capitol. They have a haughty accent that's spread and rooted itself in the area's culture. One of my Prep Team, Alaexa, has the same exotic sounding lilt to her voice. She almost sounds like some far off foreigner. Ha. No other countries are left after the floods.

I open my mouth to explain my situation once again, but why should I? She doesn't need to know.

"I'm just really excited for these Games to start, and I always do stuff like this when I'm nervous." Not a total lie, not at all, but my voice is a little shaky as I say it. I hope I don't sound like a scared little girl. Mags said trainers aren't allowed to bet, but that they leak what's happening in training to eager betters all the time to rake in an extra little bit of cash. Already, the crazy antics and moves and countermoves of the Games have begun. Although I did complain about Mags chewing my ear off to Zircon, I was sort of happy about it, too. She pretty much abbreviated all the stuff you learn in the Academy into an hour lecture that was pretty helpful.

Speaking of Zircon. After beating up Aquaman, AKA Sir Fracas the Talkative, he showed me how to throw spears. I'd never done it before, and after I messed up bad twice and didn't even hit the target I darted off. I can't look weak if I want to survive. He's still over there, having a heyday as he throws spears at targets swinging from the ceiling or running along the ground. They're animals or people and they look cool and move realistically.

"Honey?" Yin speaks, her voice sounding even more ethereal as she speaks in a soft voice. "You zoned out and stabbed yourself on the bone."

I look down and see the prick point in my finger, where a little bubble of blood has leaked out. I wipe it on my stretchy athletic, almost yoga-like pants, the blood not showing up on the black. I suck on my finger for a moment before heading back to work, creating another hook.

Several minutes later, as I tie off yet another hook, and Yin's attentions have turned to teaching the boy from Eight, a chime rings throughout the Training Center, eerily reminiscent of the chime that rings through the air when the Games begin every year. It ends with a loud, bell-like clang, and Yin immediately straightens. The boy from Eight sighs, stomping his foot in an annoyed fashion as his hook falls apart. He storms off towards the door on the far left side of the room where all the other tributes are flocking, the entrance into the lunch room. Zircon strides over from the spears to meet me as I make my way towards it.

His face is covered in a sheen of sweat, and his blonde hair is slightly mussed. He reminds me a bit of Beck, actually, when he's done working out at the school's gym. Same body build and around the same height, actually, and they have the same goofy smile. I don't expect him to wrap his barrel arms around me, however, and twirl me through the air before kissing me feather-light on the lips. That'd just be weird. Zircon's great, but I don't think I'd be able to have a relationship with him, it seems almost like he's never serious or something. But I guess I haven't spent much time with him.

We walk over the threshold of the door into the lunch room. There's a half a dozen round wooden tables, with an excess of seats, probably double the amount we currently have just so people don't have to sit next to anyone if they don't want to. A long line of tributes is already stretched out at the lunch counter, and Trinity already has her food, her tray piled with bread, soup, and meat. She chooses one of the tables and waits for the rest of us.

I inspect the other tributes ahead of Zircon and I as he chats about stuff that doesn't matter just to fill the silence between us. The pair from Three is laughing up a storm, the boy from Eleven watching them with a smirk on his face. The pregnant girl from Twelve hobbles up to get served, and the little girl from Five walks next to her, talking in a soft voice and staring at her shoes. The girls from Six and Nine seem to be bantering and laughing a little, the girl from Eight standing next to the Nine and trying to enter the conversation. The Twelve boy winks at the server when she plops a nicely roasted piece of beef onto his plate next to some macaroni, and she bites her lip, holding back a smile. The boy from Five looks at the Ten girl, who stands in line with her arms crossed and her mouth set in a firm, disapproving line. They're all so lively and different, and us Careers stick out like sore thumbs. Trinity's one of the only ones eating, Zircon is laughing so loud it's scaring the Eleven girl in front of us, I'm short as hell and pretending to laugh along, probably looking like I want to gouge out their eyeballs or something. Tyberios stands firmly in line, tapping his spoon against his tray impatiently, Ardin seems to be lost in thought, and Chavez's startling gaze could scare any Outlier to the point of wetting their pants. We're not like them, not really. We all asked to be here. Excepting myself, of course, but I'm grouped in with them. Everyone does think I'm an Academy trained Career for some reason, probably just because I'm hanging out with them.

I've already assimilated into what seems to be a pretty divided pack, and I don't know what to make of it.

* * *

 _Whatever it is, I'll pay the cost_

 _I'm willing to risk it, I'll take the loss_

 _I'll put it all on the line_

 _In a hustler's state of mind_

 _I'm gonna make history_

 _Just so we can claim victory (Victory)_

 _Oh, victory (Victory)_

* * *

 _ **Chavez Belasco, 18**_

 _ **District Four Male**_

I set down my tray with a clatter on the wooden table. There's eight chairs at the table, and three of them are already occupied. Tyberios and Trinity prod each other verbally with little insults, neither of them smiling or laughing, but I can see the mirth alight in their eyes even if they might not notice it themselves. They sit next to each other on the opposite side of the table. Separated by one chair to my left and sitting next to Tyberios is Ardin, who picks at her food without looking up, spearing a hunk of beef and chewing on it vigorously. I want to smirk. I think I've gotten under her skin. Already, inharmonious.

Who needs a pack? I can carry myself through these Games all fine. If the Outliers can do it and sometimes win, us Careers can do it, too. I'm not splitting, at least not right away, no matter how much I'll want to. The Capitol has grown to love the complexities of the classic Career pack, and if I left from the get go I'd be disliked for sure. But I don't need a pack. I don't need crutches to get me to the end like my pipsqueak of a District partner does. I have a plan in place. Pick them off one by one, maybe, or make an example out of someone and control them out of fear. Or maybe I'll play nice and just slowly mentally break them down by being annoying. So many options of how to disorient and disband the most sacred and traditional of alliances in the Games.

I wonder what would happen if the pack had never been invented in the Tenth Hunger Games, the year Serephina Manchas won and fully solidified the patriotic image of Two and the need for an Academy. The fervor spread quickly to Four after Mags won; even though she wasn't a Career, a new Victor meant new life for our District and everything changed. One had an Academy by the time Anneliese won the Twelfth just because Esquiria hated getting taunted constantly by Brick over her lack of fellow Victors, and that next year Kenyan won. They established the holy covenant of the Careers soon after: thou shalt form the o-holy pack. Without the Career pack, Trinity and Tyberios probably still would've meshed, same with Zircon and Cordelia, and they would've allied possibly. I could see Ardin joining Trinity and Tyberios just because they're more serious, and she seems like the type that needs something to be the leader of. I'd probably stay on my own and kill them all. Well, without the restraints of the pack, I might team up with someone like the kid from Seven who was on death row apparently, or the pregnant girl just to psych everyone out and so I'd be some sort of hero for bringing a weakling to the end even though I'd still end up killing the unfortunate kid.

Zircon, chatting loudly and giggling, and Cordelia, a small smile on her face and a faraway look in her eyes, approach with their trays heaped with piles of steaming food. They sit adjacent to myself and Trinity, Zircon sitting by me and Cordelia sitting by Trinity. Zircon digs into his food, and Cordelia picks at it wistfully, deep in thought apparently. She looks like a cheesy, angsty teenager or something like that, and I want to laugh.

"That's not funny," Trinity sighs. Apparently Zircon just told a joke.

"But Chavez laughed! If Mr. Macho laughs, then you all must have your panties really in a twist," Zircon peeps.

"It was a terrible joke. I agree with Trinity, not funny," Cordelia murmurs, stuffing a bite of macaroni into her mouth and chewing slowly.

"If it's so terrible, Chavez, why were you laughing?" Zircon inquires, his sharp blue eyed gaze locking onto mine.

"Wasn't laughing at your stupid joke, kid," I grunt, stabbing some beef and biting into the juicy meat. Zircon huffs and rolls his eyes, making some comment under his breath about how everyone's so uptight and fancy shmancy, and Cordelia smiles when she hears it. She's intolerable.

"He's not a kid," Ardin mumbles after she swallows a bite of bread.

"Excuse me?" I sneer, turning to her, eyebrow quirked.

"I said, he's not a kid," Ardin replies smoothly, tucking a loose strand of brown hair behind her ear. "We're all equals here. We've all worked hard to get here, even Cordelia, she just didn't volunteer. None of us are 'kids', Chavez, no matter what your egotistical head tells you."

"You go girl," I hear Zircon whisper, but I ignore him.

"Oh, so now I'm the bad guy I guess," I scoff, stabbing another piece of beef and gobbling it down quickly. "Already playing sort of skewed political game, aren't you, Ardin? You're going to try and be a controlling bitch, aren't you? You're just going to be a poor little girl trying to control everything while it all caves in and you die because you're so damn incompetent and you cannot handle it because you're just a-"

"One piece of advice," Ardin cuts me off, her face red in fury. "Realize that the Games aren't just about who's the best at killing, Chavez." She walks off without another word, depositing her half eaten lunch in the trash bin stationed by the entrance back into the training room. She waits there for the next five minutes until lunch is over. Everyone watches her go in utter silence, and slowly the pairs start talking again. I look at her and narrow my eyes. Usually girls like her, all smart and prissy, I get attracted to them. They're hard to catch and it's so gratifying when you finally rope them in. Not this girl, though. She's just a sour, uptight bitch.

"Attention, tributes," Head Trainer Tautulus shouts, walking into the room. "Time to resume training. You have five more hours for today. Good luck."

We all stand, throwing away our trash. The girl from Three looks at me uneasily as I throw away my trash right after her. She quickly lopes over to her District partner, exiting the room with him and walking over to the station they were at earlier, snares. The girl immediately resumes her work, her hands flying as she builds some sort of catapult-like structure, and her District partner works on a simple switch snare.

"Coming?" Trinity asks, standing on the threshold of the door. I realize I'm the only one still in the room, and that I've been staring. I nod curtly, and follow her out back into the Training Center main room, a small smirk consuming my face now that I'm back in my head. I've already angered Ardin, made her blow her top. I can't wait to do so, so, _so_ much more in the weeks to come to this group of inferior Careers.

* * *

 **A/N: Whew! That was so so long but SO fun! Did I just like ship Trinity & Tyberios as well as Zircon & Cordelia, even though, like Zircon is gay? XD Wtf even happened, I have no clue, but it was totally fun to write and I can't wait to write more of these chapters! :D**

 **Miriam & Jayce's alliance will be the second half of the day, same thing with the other days where first chapter will be one group, the other half the other group.**

 **The tensions in the pack I thought would be realistic; there won't always be an automatic leader like Cato or an equal-parts partnership sort of like what I thought happened in Catching Fire. I won't talk about it more so I don't accidentally reveal anything about how this may or may not effect the plot XD**

 **So, what did you think of everyone we saw today? Favorites? Least favorites? Have your thoughts changed? What do you think of the tensions? The shipping I tried not to include but had to? XD**

 **Trivia:**

 **Trinity (1 pt.): What is the Head Trainer's name?**

 **Zircon (1 pt.): WHO IS THE TRIDENTS TRAINER XD (he's the one from Oceanside. Who remembers him from the interviews? XD)**

 **Ardin (1 pt.): What weapon does she learn to use?**

 **Tyberios (1 pt.): What is the name of the soap opera that Tyberios compares the Career pack to?**

 **Cordelia (1 pt.): What is the name of the knot-tying station trainer?**

 **Chavez (1 pt.): Which of the Career Districts was the last to receive an Academy?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	41. Training Day 1: Mortem

**A/N: Today we have a quicker chapter, the alliance Mortem made up of Jayce & Miriam. I had a snow day on Monday, and I was like "I'll totally finish this!" Hopped outta bed, saw that I had a 101 temperature, collapsed back into bed, stayed home thru Wednesday, unable to write, and feeling under the weather since. :/ Eh, I'm fine though, no one cares about me! You care about Jayce and Miriam, don't you? I totally get it, don't worry ;) Enjoy reading about these two, I really hope they're loads of fun to read about ;)**

 **Trigger Warnings: Profanity**

* * *

 _Go on now, go. Walk out the door_

 _Just turn around now 'cause you're not welcome anymore_

 _Weren't you the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye?_

 _Did you think I'd crumble?_

 _Did you think I'd lay down and die?_

 _Oh, no, not I!_

 _I will survive._

 _Oh, as long as I know how to love I know I'll stay alive._

 _I've got all my life to live._

 _I've got all my love to give._

 _And I'll survive,_

 _I will survive, hey, hey._

 _It took all the strength I had not to fall apart._

* * *

 ** _Jayce Newman, 17_**

 ** _District Five Male_**

I wipe a smear of liquidy cheese from the macaroni I ate at lunch from the corner of my mouth, wiping it on my pants. Everyone else is now filtering back out into the Training Center. The girl from Two had picked up some throwing knives, and my little District partner, Bernie, is intent on learning edible plants as her hands fumble across the screen, incorrectly matching several pairs of inedible plants. I trudge through the Training Center, unsure of where to go, basically just loafing around the room. I don't feel so hot, my muscles are a little tired from dabbling at the weight lifting station earlier, and I just sort of feel tired and worn out already. My eyes rove over to one corner of the room. A complicated agility course, called the Gauntlet, stands starkly out against the other small stations. My eyes lock on the station next to the course, however; flexibility. A woman with long brown and yellow hair goes through basic yoga poses at the station, and it looks calming and healing. I walk over to there. The woman perks up when she notices my approach, and she stands, grinning.

"Hello, I'm Berlinda, you can call be Berli!" she squeaks, her voice high and ultra feminine. She quirks a somehow waggling smile and I'm a little put off, but I restrain myself; this could be helpful, I bet. "And you are?" she inquires.

"Jayce Newman," I mutter, rubbing the heel of my right hand against my forehead. "Let's get started, I have a headache."

"Ah, migraines are no fun," Berli breathes. "First, just a simple touch of your toes. Then bounce up until you are standing on your tippy toes. We will repeat the motion until you feel the pain ebbing away, and then we will continue into some more traditional poses."

Berli hums as she bends over, her fingertips grazing the toe of her shoe. She then slowly and fluidly reaches up to the sky, standing on her tippy toes, her well muscled legs quivering a little as she keeps her balance well. I follow her example and do the same thing. I can barely touch my toes, and I lose my balance on my tippy toes, staggering off of the mat and almost falling down. I hiss in dissatisfaction as I scramble back onto the mat.

"It's okay honey," Berli giggles, her voice light and airy and barely audible. "Find your center, your zen. Dig deep, and push everything else away."

I sigh before reaching down and brushing my fingers against my shoes, then I go on the tips of my toes once again and I manage to keep my balance. Then I bounce back down to my toes, faster this time, and back up. I repeat the motion until I'm moving quickly. Berli puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Slower, honey," she whispers, her golden eyes shimmering under the Training Center lights. "It's not about speed or prowess. It's about cleansing."

I nod, and we continue to do the exercise for another couple of minutes at a turtle's pace. I find myself drifting away from the world, imagining Delilah kissing me, sunsets out on the porch with my parents as we'd play the only two board games we owned, either backgammon or mancala. Then the images in my head aren't concrete any longer, they're just blissful swirls of color and whispers of distant memories that don't form complete remembrances-

Suddenly something rams into my side, and I fall onto the mat, my nose almost breaking as my head slams onto the tile beside the edge of the mat. I stumble to my feet, clawing at my eyes before looking up to see the little girl from Ten standing there, looking shocked.

"Sorry," she murmurs, wringing her hands together. "I can't walk straight after the Gauntlet."

"Are you okay Jayce honey pie?" Berli whimpers, her fairy-like voice actually sounding concerned.

"Oh yeah, I'm good. Don't know about my dumbass attacker here, though," I grunt, glaring at her.

"Hey man, I'm sorry," the girl sighs. "Purely accidental, I promise. I'm Miriam, by the way." She outstretches her hand.

"I'm Jayce," I mumble in reply, taking her hand and shaking it lightly. She squeezes back with surprising force.

"Fishy handshake," she says under her breath, and I have no idea what she means, and I don't really care. She looks up at me, her arms crossed. "You aren't very enthusiastic, are you, mister?" she asks me, looking right into my eyes.

"Well, I am about to die," I grunt as we walk away from the flexibility station as Berli waves, hyper and excited that someone actually came to her station for once, probably.

"You know that the Gamemakers are watching, right Five?" Miriam inquires, tapping her fingers against her thigh as we walk. She keeps asking me all of these questions. "Sure, Private Sessions is where they grade you, but they take your attitude in training and your demeanor and the stations you try into account, too. Higher scores translate to more sponsors, and more sponsors means a better chance of surviving the Games."

"Seems like someone is Ms. Smarty Pants and the expert of all things Hunger Games," I grunt.

"It's not like it isn't common knowledge, it was the first thing Oxen talked to Rufus and myself about last night after the parade. Didn't your Mentor strategize with you last night after the Parade and all?"

"She was too busy cuddling up to my puny District partner and knitting with her," I reply curtly. "Are you done interrogating me?"

"You might just have a shot, Five, with that attitude of yours," she utters quietly, and I want to roll my eyes almost. Who made her Empress of Odds? Oh. Sarcasm. Of course. All thirteen year olds are Empresses of Sarcasm, or at least _think_ they are, so I shouldn't be too surprised I guess.

"You might just have a shot, Ten, with that attitude of yours," I snark back. She's really getting on my nerves. I feel sleep deprived and worn out, probably from staying up so late for the Parade last night and then getting up so early today to come here to the Training Center. I expect Miriam to recoil or frown, but she doesn't even react; it's like she didn't even hear me say anything, but of course she heard me. I am walking right next to her, after all.

"The moment you give up hope is the moment you're dead," Miriam whispers, her eyes gleaming with a faraway look. She isn't talking to me, really, and I decide to leave it be. This little girl sure is crazy, but I am crazy too. We might just get along, I guess.

* * *

 _You told me something that scared me to death_

 _Don't take me home_

 _I can't face that yet_

 _I'm ashamed that I'm barely human_

 _And I'm ashamed that I don't have a heart you can break_

 _I'm just action_

 _And other times reaction_

* * *

 ** _Miriam Park, 13_**

 ** _District Ten Female_**

I came to a conclusion last night. Rufus had gone to bed early to rest up for training and Fixtata was at a dinner party, already trying to gather sponsors for the two of us. Oxen and I were sitting alone at the table, snacking on pastries, and I asked him my chances going solo. He said near zero. I asked him my chances of going with an ally. He said a little above near zero. At least he's blunt, and not treating me like a little toddler like a lot of the adults in the Capitol. I know I'm young for the Games, but just because thirteen year olds are young in Games terms doesn't mean we're all babies.

But anyway. I realized, to further myself and heighten my odds, I need an ally. It was pretty easy to cut options right away. The six Careers were off the board. I'd rather have not associated with the boy who was on death row or the screaming grandson of some obscure Mayor, and there's no way in hell I'd enter the pitiful gaggle of younger girls who have nothing better to do but cry and hold each other. The pair from Three was too chummy to enter into a comfortable, productive conversation with, same thing with the boy from Eleven and the girl from Seven. The girl from Eleven and the boy from Twelve seemed to be flirting, well, at least the Twelve boy, the Eleven girl just was blushing and failing to speak. Rufus was just not a good fit with my personality, and I'd probably slit his throat if I was forced to spend a night alone with him in the arena. He's not terrible, he's just not my kind of company, complaining about having _money_ for Snow's sake.

That left me with none of the girls and a slim selection of boys. Five, Six, and Nine, to be exact. Nine looked like the only communication he makes is through withering glares, and the Six boy was all the way on the other side of the room from the agility course, hefting large weights around. Strong, but too strong? That left me with the Five boy, so I hopped off of the Gauntlet and stumbled his way. Knocked him over after he found his "zen", got him angry, asked him lots of questions, and some how succeeded on getting him to spend more than two minutes speaking with me. Now we're at the fire making station, and as we start practicing with flint and steel before learning to make fire without it, I start up conversation.

"Struggling, eh?" I inquire, striking the shiny rod of steel against the smooth bar of flint. Sparks fly off of the two tools, landing on my pile of plant fibers and wood chips, failing to catch fire. Jayce's hands tremble and he struggles to hit it with enough force. Finally he lines them up right, and a shower of sparks rain down on his little wooden tepee, with roots and grasses sticking out of it. It's much better constructed than my own, and catches fire easily. I make another bright shower of sparks after congratulating Jayce, and several hit my leaning structure. It collapses soon after and sets itself out.

"Struggling, eh?" Jayce mocks.

"Are you just going to keep repeating everything I say and continue to be an ass?" I question sharply, tossing the flint and steel onto the ground next to my slightly burned, collapsed pile of twigs, leaves, and other plant matter. Of course he's getting on my nerves, and I'm letting it get out of hand; it seems like I'm not going to have any allies, I guess. It was still terrible odds anyway. I'll make it work; I have to.

"How about I ask some questions?" Jayce barks in reply. "First off, can I help you set up that mess of sticks and plant fiber?"

I roll my eyes and hesitantly nod yes. The instructor, Fiyera, is busy helping the other tribute at the station, the slim girl from 8 who keeps rattling off plant names as if she's keeping them memorized, and writing some new ones in a little journal when she comes up with them. Isn't she supposed to be burning the plants, not drawing them? Fiyera snaps her fingers and the girl sets down her journal, and I turn my head back to our side of the station, where Jayce has separated the sticks from the loose plant materials like the roots and grasses.

"So, you pile all of the plant matter into the middle," Jayce murmurs, taking my hands and forcing me to clump it into a neat pile, not a single whisper of a root sticking out or anything, really. "Then you stack the twigs around it, coming in almost like a cone, and if you have anything to tie it together you can if you want. If we're using big logs that just can lean on themselves, but it'll be harder to do that with these little twigs."

After we've set it up and it's structurally sound, I strike the flint against the steel, and sparks shower down onto the wood and leaves and grasses and such. As the sparks catch onto the plant matter and set it on fire, Jayce recoils, holding his brow.

"Ow!" he hollers, rubbing his eyebrow. "One of the sparks got me in the face."

I laugh hysterically, but then I end up blowing out the fire with my loud, wheezing laughs, and almost knocking down the entire wood-grass structure as well. I sigh, gathering the materials once they've cooled and dropping them into the big orange bin that contains all of the plant materials from which to build something to burn from. Jayce does the same, and then we get up, surveying the room for our next station to go to.

"Which one next?" Jayce inquires, still grinning and still enjoying flipping the script and asking the questions. He hasn't asked much yet, really.

"How about throwing knives-" I begin.

"Ok, ok, slow your roll honey, we can so do crossbows! Crossbows it is!" Jayce cheers, smiling widely at me.

"I said throwing knives," I reply flatly

"What? You want to do crossbows?"

"I don't have to ally with you, you know," I growl, and he looks at me, head cocked.

"So we are allying. That was going to be my next question," Jayce says with a small smile on his face. "Now, come on. Let's go learn crossbows. They seem pretty easy, and if we're good boys and girls and the Careers don't slaughter us too early, maybe the nice sponsors will send us one."

We both chuckle at the thought of that; the tired looking, usually pessimistic, handsome Five boy and the headstrong, shockingly gorgeous thirteen year old Ten girl. Oops. There's something wrong with that statement, isn't there? No way Jayce is handsome.

I tell him the joke and he just shakes his head. We approach the crossbow station, but I grab his elbow, stopping him and turning him to face me.

"One last question, kid. Why are you allying with me? Outta pity?" I ask him, folding my arms across my chest.

"First off. Four years older than you, buckaroo. You don't call me kid. Second off, it's the right thing to do in my opinion, so I'm doing it and hopefully we'll both make it to the end because that's what always happens to two person, weak Outlier alliances, isn't it? Kid."

"Of course, sir," I say in a mocking thick Upper Capitol accent. "And once you stop acting like a monkey with a stick up its ass, I'll stop calling you kid. Kid."

Jayce just rolls his eyes and walks up to the magenta-haired crossbow instructor, and I hang back right behind him, smiling and shaking my head slightly. It's a shame I'm going to have to kill him if I'm going to go home and cure Mom and play soccer ever again. Well, at least I accomplished my mission. I have a "protector" of sorts now, even though he's tired and a downer and likes to prod jokes about myself at me. Our odds just ticked up a little, I guess. A little past zero is better than just past zero, that's for sure.

* * *

 **A/N: Ah these guys were really fun, and I had a great time revisiting them and making them meet up and become allies. I always find it so hard to believe how many alliances there are in SYOTs; like, in canon there were only the Careers pretty much at the get-go, and how do you make friends and trust them with your life in only a week? But yeah, I tried to make it believable and I'll be doing the same for everyone to come. Okay I went on a half-rant tangent, sorry XD Hope it was a really fun read!**

 **Have your thoughts on either changed? Who did you like better, Jayce or Miriam? If I told you I have four main tributes in mind as possible Victors, who would you guess that they are? (Remember these are just preliminary thoughts and none of these four will probably end up being my Victor XD)**

 **THANKS FOR ALL OF THE REVIEWS I LOVE YOU ALL 3**

 **Trivia:**

 **Jayce (1 pt.): What is the flexibility trainer's name?**

 **Miriam (1 pt.): What station did Miriam want to go to instead of crossbows?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	42. The Second Night

**A/N: Today we have two friends we're revisiting! We're going to revist a tribute and a Mentor: Libby Miles, the District Six Female, as well as Pumpkin Little, the District Eleven Mentor. Enjoy your reading, and I hope it's a good one! I'm feeling much better by the way, it was my weak attempt at a joke when I said you guys did not care XD**

 **I honestly have no idea why this took so long. I have no fitting explanation besides a blooming social life (not even really), writing like two paragraphs of original fiction, training for track, and being addicted to watching Survivor. Oh and I am working on this Survivor thing with my friend it's so bad xD But anyway, I'm sorry for the wait, I knew exactly what I wanted to write for these two for a long time and I was excited to do it, it was just like last night I realized it's been 2 weeks since I updated and I was like "WHAT?!" But anyway, enjoy! :D**

 **P.S. I also have the explanation for Miriam & Jayce's alliance name on the bottom, it is NOT what you think I am not damning them to be Bloodbaths from the get go xD**

 **Trigger Warnings: Profanity, K rated steamy stuff, suicidal thoughts and actions, recreational drug use. I think I hit everything but gore with this chapter XD**

 **I also sorta robbed a Lana song for one line of Pumpkin's but it fit well. And I was listening to Lana as I was writing this so, yeah that's why XD**

* * *

 _I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut_

 _My weakness is that I care too much_

 _And our scars remind us that the past is real_

 _I tear my heart open just to feel_

 _I tried to help you once_

 _Against my own advice_

 _I saw you going down_

 _But you never realized_

 _That you're drowning in the water_

 _So I offered you my hand_

 _Compassion's in my nature_

 _Tonight is our last stand_

* * *

 ** _Pumpkin Little, 31_**

 ** _District Eleven Mentor and Victor of the Seventh Annual Hunger Games_**

Phemia and Soya cackle loudly at the dinner table, flipping through a brochure on the new Capitol couture for this upcoming fall season. Phemia's glossy nails clack against the table as they fly across the waxy paper foldable, pointing first at a cocktail dress with a neon orange chevron pattern on it. It's more simplistic than most Capitol designs, and I find it beautiful. Of course Phemia scoffs at it and calls it boring before zeroing in on a flouncy dress made of silver and covered with flashing baubles. She circles it with a red pen and declares that she's buying it, and Soya giggles and nods in agreement.

Omri sits next to me, sawing into his peppered beef and chewing on it thoughtfully, his jaw working up and down to pulverize the tough meat. He discreetly brings his napkin to his mouth and spits out a bit of grisly fat before stuffing the crumpled napkin under his plate. He eats more of the meat, and then he eyes me strangely. I realize that I've been staring at him, and I quickly look back to my plate, stabbing a spear of asparagus and munching on it. An Avox takes away my plate when it's empty. Soya and Phemia are still chuckling over the fashion pamphlet, their eyes alight with true mirth. I smile a little before standing and walking towards the elevator. I press the smooth up button, like a rounded pebble in the wall. As the doors slide open, Omri calls out to me from the dinner table.

"Where are you going?" he asks, his voice curious and a little confused.

"I'll be back in a minute," I reply flatly before stepping into the elevator. The doors glide closed behind me, and I press the button bearing the marking _E_ _F3._ It's one of the six EF buttons, which stands for Extracurricular Floors. There's six floors of arcades and restaurants and gardens and playgrounds and amusement parks and zoos and more on top of the twelve District floors. After the first day of training, a tribute can spend the entire rest of their training time there if they find training to be useless for them. Some of the more confident or laidback Careers often go there, as well as the younger kids without a hope in this world. There's also a day after the interviews called the "Fun Day", where the tributes get to run wild through the six floors and have their last laughs before heading into the Games the next day. This piece of the Games was added on soon after Ludum become Head Gamemaker back before the 15th, and it is really great for the little kids who don't want to spend the time training. They get to see so much more than they ever would've back home before they get sent to the slaughter.

I'm riding up there myself not for a roller coaster ride or a fizzy, foot high fountain drink. I'm riding up there to meet a special friend of mine.

The doors swoosh open once I reach the floor, and I exit the elevator. The ceiling is a thick, warped glass so you can see everything piled above, and several bars, a trampoline park, and a trio of arcades are nearby. All the lights are turned off, and everything's dusty; in a couple of hours, workers will flood the place to clean everything, turn on the lights, and prepare for the half dozen tributes who usually skip the second day of training. The place, basically a labyrinth, looks a little ominous in the full dark, but I know my path by heart. I head northwest, and soon enough a huge garden with a stone archway above the entrance comes into my sight. I can barely make out the words on the archway in the dark; it reads _Garden of the Arenas._

"Hello, Pumpkin," Mateo Ciacco hisses, slithering out from under the archway. I give a little start, and I shake my eyes as he ambles over to my side. I can't really make out his clothing all that well, but he seems to be dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. He has a small plastic basket of garden tools in his hands.

"Hello, Mateo," I reply smoothly. He leans in and presses a feather light kiss to my neck, and I roll my eyes.

"You look as beautiful as ever, my elegant flower," he rasps.

"I'm not a lost, depressed 16 year old girl anymore, Mateo," I tell him firmly.

"Whatever you say, Pumpkin," he says, pulling back. "But you're just as lost as ever, my friend."

"Let's just get the plants and get out of here," I sigh. Mateo pulls out a flashlight from the little basket, and shines it on the cobblestone path. We enter the shadowy garden, and I look at Mateo's illuminated back. His slicked back black hair with silvery little streaks, his well muscled build, his confident stride. It was what attracted me to the 19 year old man when I was a year fresh out of my Games, looking for a distraction, looking for love to fill my heart. He took me and had me until he cheated on me. That wound's healed, however. I haven't had sex with him or loved him in a decade. I'd rather never see him again. But he's the Head Landscaper in the Capitol's gardens, and he has access to this _Garden of the Arenas._ He still loves me, and he digs up the two plants I bring back to Eleven to commemorate my dead tributes in turn for getting to spend a meager half hour with me.

After a couple of minutes of walking in silence, we reach the Twenty First Hunger Games section. The temperature strangely changes once we enter the section, some weird Capitol technology, and a cool, thin mist slips across the exposed skin on my arms and face. The grasses and bushes of the moor scratch at our feet, and in the distance a shadowy grove of trees, cloaked in a robe of fog, rise above the moor landscape. There's two pots waiting in the middle of the field, and we kneel down besides two thick tufts of moor grasses. I dig up one quickly, and Mateo digs up the other in a slower fashion as to spend more time with me most likely. We transition them into the pots, and then once they're in, I grab both pots and stand.

"Thank you, Mateo-" I begin, but he leans in close and presses his lips hard against mine. The pots topple from my arms, cracking into a dozen pieces on the ground as he pushes me to the ground and kisses me harder. To my surprise, I'm kissing him back, and his hands run down my back and unclip my bra, and I don't even care, pulling on his hair and smashing his face against mine more so. Am I really going to let Mateo do this with me? Of course I will. Deep down, I know I still love him, too. Deep down, I know that I could get these plants by myself. Deep down, I know that my temper stems from avoiding my feelings over him.

The mist floats above our heads as we meld with the landscape of the moor, not leaving its wild, ethereal confines until the lights of morning force us to return to our daily lives. We must leave behind the wonderful fantasy, crafted in the dark of the night, beneath the false mists of the moor, for cold cutting reality.

"I'll see you next year, Mateo," I whisper, standing up and pulling on my shirt.

"I'll see you tomorrow night, Pumpkin," he sighs, still on his back and looking up at the ceiling. I just shake my head.

"I'll see you tomorrow night, Mateo," I reply in a bit of a resigned voice, although joy tickles in my chest. I'm still playing the Games; you never stop. Now they're just political and personal. I can't stop myself. I can't show him how I really feel. I walk off, leaving him there, head tilted to the sky like a prissy queen, and when I get back to my room I cry until I can't cry anymore, until I fall asleep in a river of tears. No one helps me or comforts me, and I'm used to it. There's a war in my mind, and I can't get it out. I've had fifteen years to call a ceasefire, but I can't. I never will be able to, and it's all their fault. They know who they are.

* * *

 _In the land of Gods and Monsters_

 _I was an Angel_

 _Living in the garden of evil_

 _Screwed up, scared, doing anything that I needed_

 _Shining like a fiery beacon_

 _You got that medicine I need_

 _Fame, Liquor, Love give it to me slowly_

 _Put your hands on my waist, do it softly_

 _Me and God, we don't get along so now I sing_

* * *

 ** _Libby Miles, 16_**

 ** _District Six Female_**

After dinner, I stumble out to the balcony that extends out from our hotel floor. It's long and made of sleek metal like the rest of the structure, and I collapse on one of the silvery lawn chairs. Its cushions are soft and puffy, chartreuse in color. They remind me of bile, and that just triggers a bunch of memories. Both Anaya and myself getting sick with the stomach flu when I was 6. I barfed all over the kitchen counter, and Anaya cleaned it up before puking herself. It would've been funny if it wasn't so disgusting. Bile bubbled in my stomach and crept up my throat at the funeral when I saw Anaya's unblemished body laying in the casket, and I fled from the room, unable to take another second. Bile, showering the alleyways where I desperately searched for a release. After I took my first hit of the dirty morphling the hoodlums in Six make, nothing compared to the fancy stuff the Capitolites use in their hospitals, I saw a guy overdose. His body kept having him regurgitate bile over and over to get the toxic substance out of his body, until he was convulsing, and then just shivering as his eyes glazed over. It was horrendous, so horrendous, but the needle had already bitten into my arm and I was on the hook. I couldn't step away.

So chartreuse isn't a preferred color of mine. I rip the pillows off of the reclining lawn chair, and I toss them off of the side of the building. I slide over to the edge of the terrace, watching in half fear, half exhilaration, as the pillows spiral down seven floors and land with a soft _pump_ each on the sidewalk. It's high enough to break bones, to turn flesh into an oily paste, if one were to jump. My fingertips drum across the railing, and I close my eyes.

I could jump.

 _JUMP._ Anaya's voice is cool and steely in my head. Ever since we got to the Capitol, she's been leaving me alone; the trauma of seeing a hundred thousand neon colored people begging to see my blood shed and being Reaped and leaving home has been enough, she hasn't had to taunt me as much. Her voice drives deeper into my head like a rusted nail, the hammer ramming into the head of it, choppy but irreversible as it buries itself in my consciousness.

 _JUMP._ Anaya repeats, her voice raspy and quiet. _Show them that you're not just the little sniveling bitch, Libby. Show them that you're not the mindless failure that you are. SHOW THEM. JUMP. Feel the wind hit your face, feel everything leave your mind, even me, before you collide. JUMP._

I'm not the strongest girl, but I have enough upper body strength to heave myself onto the railing. It's flat topped, a little slippery and made of smooth steel. I run my fingers across it, savoring the tingles that run up my arms from the cold. I can't do this. Isn't suicide more cowardly than dying in the Games?

 _Don't you want to be remembered, Libby, or do you just want to be another ex-addict from Six who can't make it past the Bloodbath?_

"This isn't the right way," I murmur to her in reply, barely realizing that I'm talking to myself.

 _Nothing is the right way._ Anaya's voice grinds into my head. _Just get it over with. Die by your own accord, rather than theirs._

I've never been rebellious, really. Sure, no one loves the Capitol in Six, but we're not that rebellious really. We're too preoccupied with our addictions and our poverty. Those of us that are sober and rich have the Capitol to thank for their bounties, so they don't step out of line in fear of ending up on the street like so many of our citizens. I've never thought _Oh, I wish I could kill a Capitolite_ , although I do really hate our neighborhood's Capitol Liaison. She's a total pervert. But anyway, I've never been that reckless girl who gets arrested and wants to show the institution that they should go to hell. I like to keep to myself.

But the idea of being free, of thwarting the impenetrable force known as the Capitol, is so alluring. That's why I let my feet dangle off of the balcony. That's why I let my sweaty palms make the metal slick until I'm sliding forward. That's why I let gravity wrap its eager arms around me as I near falling off of the railing.

The sliding doors whoosh open, and I twirl, falling off of the balcony and back onto the metal floor of it. Calla steps out, a joint held between her index and middle finger in her right hand. She sees we hunched over the railing, and she laughs uproariously, sitting down on the bare metal lawn chair.

"Thinking about suicide, bitch?" she cackles. _You better be,_ Anaya yells in my head.

"Maybe," I hiss, narrowing my eyes at my apathetic Mentor. "If the pillows can fall, so can I."

"You're hilarious!" Calla chuckles. "One kid tried that four years ago. Remember? Orchard Callen from Eleven? She died. After that, they put up forcefields around the hotel. Things that weigh less than ten pounds can fall through. And you're really scrappy, honey, but you'd be launched right back onto this balcony, and all you would gain from the stupid experience would be a bruised tailbone and embarrassment once the media found out." Calla takes a drag from her joint.

 _Ask for a drag._ Anaya peeps up, her voice shrill. _Just one._

I slam my fist against my head, and Calla looks at me quizzically, taking another puff from her weed.

"You look messed up. Ever tried marijuana, girly?" Calla extends her arm, and the smoking joint is so close to my face I could lean forward and grab it with me teeth. I close my eyes. I shake my head slowly, and Calla's arm draws back. I can hear Anaya's voice bubbling up from her dark corner in the back of my mind, but I won't take it.

"JUST GET OUT!" I scream, pulling on my hair. Calla drops her joint, and it goes out. She swears and picks up the ruined weed, looking ticked. She looks at me, head cocked, and she just shakes her head slowly.

"I'm not going away. I have to at least try to Mentor you, bitch," Calla hisses.

"I'm not talking to you," I growl in response.

"Who you talking to? The voices in your head?" She giggles to herself, and I glare at her.

"Fuck off bitch," I snarl. "I suggest trying to jump off that balcony. With how insidious of a person you are, even a forcefield would let you plummet to your death." I snap up to my feet, opening the sliding door after getting there in one huge stride. Calla stands up, confused.

"Do you really have voices in your head?" she inquires.

"A voice," I bark. "And seriously, motherfucking fuck off, fucker." I step inside the expansive hotel floor, and I flee to my room, curling up on my bed when I get there. I lay awake for hours, keeping the tears at bay and staring at the ceiling, willing everything around me to explode and crumble.

It's only before I slip off to sleep that I realize something: Anaya hasn't spoken to me since I told her to go away three hours earlier, when I fled the balcony. How is that possible?! I'm too tired to keep thinking about it, however. I sneak off into the private recluse of my dreams, hoping for once that they won't be nightmares.

* * *

 **A/N: Wow. Like I had the basic idea for Pumpkin and Libby when I started writing these, but they got darker than I anticipated and a lot more fun to write XD I like writing angst and stuff that makes you think (Sorta like this I hope?) so this was really fun to do. I hope you enjoyed these two :)**

 **Quick explanation! XD Jayce and Miriam are not named Mortem because they are doomed to die. They're named Mortem because one of Miriam's key components is her dying mother, and Jayce's character is based on how he's slowly dying and he has to make the most of the time he has left. So yeah. XD Hope that makes more sense?**

 **OMG THANKS ALL OF YOU WHO HAVE NOMINATED ME FOR THE SYOT AWARDS ON THE SYOT ALLIANCE FORUM! :D It's seriously an honor to see people saying that I'm the best "new" SYOT author (I guess I am still new but I almost have a year of SYOT under my belt), as well as having the best story and being the best all around writer! It really means a lot, and I like knowing that people appreciate all the work I put into this story :)**

 **Have your thoughts on either of these changed? Any thoughts on the story as a whole so far?**

 **Also thanks for all of the reviews they're precious to me by the end of this we'll have broken 1,000 I know it**

 **Trivia:**

 **Pumpkin (1 pt.): What was the arena of the 21st Games? (inference from the word used many times to describe that section of the garden XD)**

 **Libby (1 pt.): What is the name of the tribute who committed suicide four years prior?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	43. The Second Morning

**A/N: Today we have the District Four Mentor, Mags Flanagan, as well as the Ten Male, Rufus Braunvieh, to revisit. Enjoy your reading, and I hope I did well with the both of these characters!**

 **Trigger Warnings: Profanity (I use profanity too much, don't I? xD) and sexual references**

* * *

 _Waffle house,_

 _black coffee in our mugs._

 _We're hazy eyed,_

 _but not because we're fucked up,_

 _it's just that we've been up all night._

 _Sharing stories of our past,_

 _empty vows of how you'd keep in touch,_

 _If I can always make you laugh._

* * *

 ** _Mags Flanagan, 28_**

 ** _District Four Mentor and Victor of the Eleventh Annual Hunger Games_**

I don't usually stay in the Tribute Hotel. Oisin always keeps things under control, and our volunteers can take care of themselves. I'm busy being prostituted most of the time anyway, tied up like a pretty pony at the pervert's auction. They gave me the first night off so I could screw Cordelia's head on straight. It's the first time an untrained female's been Reaped out of Four since the Fifteenth, so I've grown too accustomed to not really having to Mentor. Cordelia's a pretty pony, too. She's just up for sale at the slaughter auction. It's sad, but I wonder who'll take her down. She has some of the skill and the fire, but I don't know if it'll be enough.

All these thoughts over a cup of straight black coffee. The curving bar of the hotel were all my "meetings" are held has scant customers; there's the buxom blonde crying into her coffee and liquor concoction over some guy probably, the guy with the pink afro who's still high from the night before, and the woman I had to copulate with the night before. She's rather pretty, but when she spots me and waggles her eyebrows, I smile a little. When she turns away, her to-go cup full of rum, I splatter all of the coffee in my mouth across the length of the smooth granite counter top in front of me. Bitch.

I sigh, leaning my cheek against my open palm. It's warm from holding the mug of black coffee, but the warmth swiftly fades. I take another gulp of the cooling coffee and survey the bar around me to keep from falling back asleep. I can't have the tabloids shooting pictures of me, asleep, leaning against a bar. They'd peg me for an alcoholic quicker than you can say _paparazzi._

The buxom blonde's tears have slowed, and neon pink afro has pulled out a joint and is taking a hearty drag. The bartender, a sparsely clad man, barely notices, just discreetly shoving the _No smoking_ sign positioned on the bar closer to afro dude. A towering mass of dark skinned muscle climbs down the stairs, and I turn my back to the man, sipping more of my coffee and trying to curl up in on myself. Why do I always have to see Scylas Ondino on these days?

He slides onto a stool six down from me, and he swiftly orders a caramel macchiato. For such an imposing, famous man, Scylas's tastes can seem out of character at times, like his enjoyment of sweaters and his knack for being able to name any Capitol pop singer from the early years after the Dark Days. Oisin once joked in his presence that he seems like he might be a flouncy gay fairy at times, and Scylas got stormy and removed himself from the conversation. I'm not saying he's gay. He probably isn't. It's not Oisin's play to assume and over analyze, and it's not my place to pry or equate myself.

"You look like someone poured all the ponderings off the world into your coffee," Scylas murmurs, his husky, shallow voice barely audible from six stools away. He scoots over two when I don't respond. "You did hear me, didn't you Mags? Mags-"

"Just because you got to have sex with Masquetta Blaire doesn't mean you get to be a preppy prick," I snap.

"Who told you-"

"You're wearing lavender and violet and I can smell your lemongrass perfume from over here. Masquetta bought me twice last year after her daddy bequeathed his inheritance to her. She went on and on about it during the foreplay. I still swear I sometimes wake up smelling lemongrass stuck in my nostrils."

"At least she's pretty, I guess," Scylas grunts.

"That's true," I sigh in reply, wringing my hands around my mug awkwardly. "So, how's Tyberios?" I inquire, scootching over a stool so there's only three between us now. He does the same, so there's two between us.

"He's something new. He's cocky and rude as usual, but he has these-" Scylas stops. "I shouldn't tell you, I forgot. You're trying to get your little garage girl to win this year so you're actually talking to her."

I chuckle. "That girl couldn't hit a thing." That's a flat out lie, but Scylas has gotten me interested. I move another stool closer, not even realizing that I've left my coffee several stools behind me. "We have no hope for her. I'm going to be sleeping here for the rest of the month, and I'm thinking about letting Waverley take a whirl at Mentoring."

Scylas barks with laughter, shaking his head and picking up his macchiato and taking a hearty gulp before turning to me. "That would've worked when I was fresh out of the Games, honey, but I can tell when you care about a tribute. Sorry."

"I-I don't care about her?" I whimper half heartedly.

Scylas hacks more uneven laughs. "You're going soft, Flanagan. By the time you're an old lady, you'll be smiling with your toothless mouth and sacrificing yourself for a _virtue."_

"Fuck off," I sigh, sliding off of my stool.

"Where are you going?" he asks me, turning around as I make to walk away. I stop in my tracks.

"I have a charge to attend to back at the Tribute Center," I reply smoothly.

"I knew you cared about her."

"Shut up."

"Never."

"I'll see you tomorrow morning, Ondino."

"See you, Mags."

* * *

 _They say youth is wasted, wasted on the young_

 _So they tell me, why are we having so much fun?_

 _All the midnight dreamers falling into love_

 _In our torn up sneakers, yeah, we were born to run_

 _So I'm begging you_

 _Hold on, hold on_

 _To your wasted youth_

 _Hang on, hang on_

 _Cause it's going so soon_

 _So let's get it while we're young_

 _(We're wasted youth)_

* * *

 ** _Rufus Braunvieh, 17_**

 ** _District Ten Male_**

I lay on top of my bed, fully dressed, staring at the silvery ceiling fan slowly revolve. My eyes are locked on a singular fan blade, following it on its orbit around the center of the apparatus. It seems to move slowly when I focus on one of the blades, but when I just look at the whole thing, it seems to speed up and move faster. I repeat the process over and over, clacking the tips of my tennis shoes together as I keep staring.

I'm sort of bored, and I really don't want to go out there, to see the ruthless-seeming Victor who is scared of the dark, to see the giggly, bubbly Escort who caters to his every need, to see the smartass thirteen year old girl who could easily kick my ass to be honest. I don't want to go to training and watch everyone make friends and learn new skills why I fumble around at the knots station, no one speaking to me, exactly like yesterday. One day was enough. I know I'm not going to learn anything new today or tomorrow. It doesn't matter what I do, and since I have no friends or fun in the Training Center, why even go? There has to be some stupid rule that forces you to go, however, right? I hope not. I'd rather spend my last days having fun.

Finally, my stomach is grumbling too loudly for me to ignore it. At least the food here is good, eh? I need to snap out of this. I'm usually a little more positive back home, and I know that type of mindset is never detrimental. I'm just stuck in a despondent stupor because I'm probably going to die within the next two weeks, so I'm just sort of done right now. But if I can stay in this room and eat junk and watch old soaps all day...now that would be gold.

I stand up and walk over to the door, stepping out into the main part of the floor. Miriam is sitting alone at the dining room table, gorging on sausage and bacon and hash browns. I don't see Oxen or Fixtata anywhere. I stride over to the dining table and pull out the chair next to Miriam. She doesn't even jump a little, and she goes on stuffing her face with proteins and carbs, stocking up her slim frame with extra fat for Games I suppose.

"Didn't scare you?" I inquire as I pick up a plate and a fork. I reach out and spear a piece of sausage. I bite into it, savoring the thyme taste of the piece of meat. Each of the sausages in the tray has a different taste to it, just like yesterday; it's a wonder to try them all.

"You have a heavy gait," she says quickly in between bites.

"Are you calling me fat?" I ask, chewing thoughtfully on my sausage.

"Could you leave me alone?" Miriam hisses, the tines of her fork screeching against her plate as she misses the piece of fruit she was aiming to spear. I flinch a little at the harsh sound, and I rub my ears. Miriam just keeps on eating, not minding it at all.

I eat for a couple more minutes, swallowing more salty sausage and a couple of juicy slices of watermelon. After devouring several spoonfuls of syrup straight out of the bottle, Miriam speaks up, looking at me.

"Think I'm weird?" I question, squeezing out more syrup into the spoon and gulping it down.

"No. I want some," she responds, and she snatches the syrup bottle out of my hand and guzzles it straight from the bottle. I can't help but laugh a little bit, and when it's nearly empty, she sets it down on the table, smacking her lips and smiling just a little bit.

"Where are Fixtata and Oxen?" I ask Miriam.

"Out on the terrace, doing their poetry and yoga routine," she sighs. "I wish they'd be more helpful. I don't even know when we're supposed to go to training."

"I'm not going today," I tell her firmly.

"So you're going to the Fun Floors?" she asks.

"What are those?"

"You know? The six floors above Twelve's floor? Where they have amusement parks and all that stuff? If I wasn't so dead set on surviving, I'd actually go there and have the time of my life. But for a hopeless basketcase like you, you might as well go have fun."

"I'm not hopeless," I bark back.

"Whoa, dude, joking," Miriam says with an uneasy scowl on her face. She clears the last bits of sausage off of her plate and then stands. "I'm gonna head down to the Training Center, even if I'm wildly early, so I'm not wildly late." She stands and walks towards the elevator. Once the doors open, she steps inside and disappears.

Unsure of what to do next, I head towards the balcony to talk to Fixtata and Oxen. If I can go to these "Fun Floors" then I'm totally doing it, but I just need to know the specifics before I possibly break the law and damn myself to getting blown up by the Gamemakers.

I push open the sliding doors, and it glides away, revealing a peaceful sight. Oxen and Fixtata slowly cycle through fourteen positions. My grandma tried yoga before, but I've never really seen positions like this. Maybe they made them up, or maybe it's stuff I haven't seen before. They don't hear or see me, and I watch them silently.

"One," Fixtata whispers, her voice airy and soothing. She spreads her legs and reaches down, her fingertips scraping the floor. "Reach into the earth, and retrieve the gems of your labors." Oxen follows her lead, and I find myself, awkwardly perched on the threshold of the door, doing it as well.

"Two," Fixtata murmurs, leaning back a little and slowly moving her arms up and out and holding them there. "Hold the weight of the rock you have hewn from the mountain high above your head."

"Three," she says, straightening out and stretching her arms wide. She then tips her head forward. "Embrace the knowledge of the world's inner mechanisms."

"Four," she mutters, standing on one foot and reaching both arms high above her head and a little back, as if she's casting a fishing line. "Align yourself with the sea, and meet its needs, for it-"

I fall over suddenly, sprawling out at my Escort's and Mentor's feet. Oxen is spooked and he falls right onto his butt, while Fixtata manages to keep her balance, but she's flushed, and she makes a little high pitched gurgling noise. Once everyone's composed themselves, Fixtata clears her throat.

"Is there a problem, Rufus?" she asks, her sugary voice a little perplexing.

"I was just wondering if I could go to the Fun Floors today," I respond, wringing my hands.

"Aren't you a little old?" Fixtata inquires. "You should go train. You have a shot."

"Go have fun, kid," Oxen sighs, rubbing his sore behind. "Enjoy yourself."

I turn away to head to the Fun Floors, closing the sliding door and leaving them be. The moment the door closes, I can already see them bending themselves complicatedly for District Five's position, and I just shake my head softly. No way any of the other Escort-Mentor teams are this neglectful. No wonder it took us so long to get a Victor.

* * *

 **A/N: That was a little shorter than usual? At least by word count. But I enjoyed writing these two, especially Mags, its so much fun to write her as a bitter woman still in her glory years, and imagining how she'll change as she progresses through life. Rufus is also pretty fun to work with.**

 **I don't have a lot to say today about this story. I hope to get the next one out sooner!**

 **My friends Maia & Ruby (MRKenn, also Sage and Calico's submitter) are in the Games of their first SYOT, and they've opened submissions for their second SYOT, School's Not Out For the Summer! It's going to be even better than Royal Blood, and you definitely should go submit! :D**

 **Trivia:**

 **Mags (1 pt.): What is Masquetta Blaire's favorite fragrance that she has her Victors wear?**

 **Rufus (1 pt.): On which pose did Rufus fall?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	44. Training Day 2: Water Glasses

**A/N: Hey everyone! Hopefully this got out quick! Today we're revisiting Soya Chaffer from District Eleven and Gaylord Parthenia from District Twelve. They're allies, obviously, and here's how their training is going! Enjoy!**

 **Trigger Warnings: profanity and sexual innuendo**

 **(If you haven't noticed by seeing the songs yet, the theme of the day is Hamilton ;)**

* * *

 _Helpless!_

 _Look into your eyes_

 _And the sky's the limit_

 _I'm Helpless!_

 _Down for the count_

 _And I'm drownin' in 'em_

 _I'm Helpless!_

* * *

 ** _Soya Chaffer, 17_**

 ** _District Eleven Female_**

"Are you sure that I can't wear something besides my training uniform today?" I ask Phemia as we chow at the breakfast table.

"Not if you want to go to the training room," Phemia mumbles after swallowing a mouthful of scrambled eggs. "You could go to the Fun Floors and do whatever the heck you want. Ride a roller coaster, drink a million slurpees, play dodgeball, feed animals at the zoo, or canoodle with your new _friend."_

I roll my eyes, but not fully. I'm not the type that really rolls her eyes. "Yeah, he's my friend. Leave it be, Phemie." I can't believe she'd let something like that slip! I thought Phemia and I had explicit trust! That is what is supposed to happen when you're someone's confidant.

On the mention of my ally, Lord Parthenia of District Twelve, Pumpkin's head snaps up from the newspaper she's skimming. She narrows her eyes a little at me, and she folds up the newspaper and sets it down. Omri also looks at me, his interest piqued. I groan internally. When the two uptights are interested in something, it doesn't normally turn out that well. Pumpkin leans forward, almost knocking over a tray of bagels.

"You have a _friend?"_ Pumpkin quips, raising her eyebrow. "As in an ally, or as in a romantic interest?"

"J-just an ally," I quickly splutter before Phemia can say anything. Pumpkin rises her brow again, and I quickly continue. "Omri has allies, so why can't I have any?"

"Hormones and the Hunger Games don't mix well, Soya," Pumpkin sighs. "Just ask Oakes and Serephina's little friend." Everyone looks at her, rather confused, and she just shakes her head quickly, standing. "You guys need to get down to training within the next twenty minutes."

Omri follows her. He's quieter and respectful up here in the hotel, but down in the Training Center he laughs raucously with the Seven girl and chats sometimes with the Threes. He even fraternizes openly with the trainers, and isn't afraid to walk past the Careers. Yet he rarely even looks me in the eyes, not to mention talk to or joke around with me. I always thought District partners had some sort of unspoken understanding, some sort of inherited bond. I didn't seem that way with Omri and I. I guess that's alright, however, since I was going to win due to the fact of already facing the biggest loss one could face. It didn't do well to get too attached. I had to distance myself from Lord, if I can. No use in falling in love during the Hunger Games.

Soon enough, I finish my own breakfast, and I walk over to the elevator. Omri's already gone, and I hit the button to go down. The little screen below the button indicates that the elevator is on the ground floor, dropping people off. I turn around, and I see Pumpkin scurrying into her room with an armful of paperwork. Phemia waltzes over, and I refuse to look her in the eyes.

"I'm sorry Soya, you know I'm a dodo brain," Phemia sighs, folding her arms across the crystalline blouse, the fabric crinkling a bit. She smooths it out, and leans forward to tuck some of my hair behind my ear in a peace offering. I let her do so, and she smiles softly at me, murmuring, "Your hair is the bomb dot com this morning."

"Only because you did it," I reply, quirking a small smile, and Phemia giggles.

"Good thing to know that we're all good. Now I can go gather sponsors without feeling guilty the whole day," she laughs.

The elevator doors ping open, revealing one other tribute standing inside, the boy from Six. His darker skin shines in the fluorescent light that the elevator emanates, and he smiles a little at me, stretching out his muslced arms tiredly. He's cute and seems pretty nice. I step into the elevator, and I grin at him.

"Hello, I'm Fender," he tells me, extending his hand. I shake it as the doors slide closed behind me.

"I'm Soya," I whisper in reply, drawing back my hand from his tight grip. We keep rising; someone from Twelve must be coming on, too. Hopefully Lord. Or Fender might be going to the Fun Floors. I doubt that; he sure was working really hard at weights yesterday, tossing around those heavy kettlebells like they were nothing.

"You look nice this morning," he says kindly. There really isn't much hint of flirting in his voice; it's just a simple compliment from a nice guy. However, the doors snap right as he starts saying that, and Lord looks at him, half-furious, as he steps onto the elevator.

"Who looks nice this morning?" Lord questions, striding to my side and standing close to me, towering a good half foot above me. I look up at him, and the inner flood of conflicting feelings that have been toiling around inside of me since he first kissed my hand yesterday in greeting rise to the surface. I don't need this distraction, but I don't have many other options, and I'd really like to have an ally. It'll make my destiny of coming out Victorious easier in some ways, but it will also be detrimental emotionally. But I don't think I could be alone for the something-in-the-teens amount of time the Games usually last, especially in the wilderness. It's a confusing plethora of emotions, so that's why I confessed them to Phemia. I really do need a confidant, so I'm happy she actually cares.

"I was," Fender replies, his voice faltering a little bit. "Just making kind small talk."

Lord harumphs. " _Small talk._ Stay away from my girl." The elevator seamlessly starts to head downwards, and doesn't make a stop the entire way down. Fender looks like he's itching to ask a question, probably about the two of us, but he keeps his mouth shut, and he is the first off of the elevator once we reach the Training Center. He makes his way down the short tile hallway that connects the elevator to the Center, and he disappears through the doors. Lord and I step out, and he takes my hand gingerly, stroking his thumb carefully over the back of it.

"Where would you like to go today, my dear?" Lord inquires, arching his brow cutely. I bite my lip to avoid blushing. I don't like the sway he already has over me. But he's just so good at flirting and he's also pretty good looking, especially for a Twelve kid, so his effect is amplified compared to if it was someone like Fender. I don't like feeling defenseless or like the damsel in distress. I'm not in distress. I'm winning, or that's at least what's destined to happen. Destinies can sometimes be broken like they are in books, but this isn't a book. This is real life, and I've already had the brunt of real life, so I must get a free pass here.

"I don't care. We spent a lot of times at throwing knives yesterday; how about we do...edible plants?" I answer in a hushed voice. I don't know why, but I feel like something deep inside me implores me to be silent when Lord is towering over me, his eyes smoldering with delight.

"Sure," he replies, cracking his knuckles as we begin to walk forward. He stops a few feet from the door, and turns to me. "Let's play a little game. We each get to ask each other a question. I'll ask first. Have you ever kissed a boy before?"

"Of course not," I chuckle in response. "All the boys that go to my school have buckteeth or they never shower. No one cares a lot about looks in Eleven, especially boys. I guess there's some good ones like yourself, but they've already been snatched up. The good boys and girls, the pretty, popular ones, get married usually before they're out of Reaping age."

"Surprised no one ever married you, you're so pretty," Lord mumbles huskily, and I feel the heat flush my face. "If you ever want to have your first kiss, just let me know girly." The burning tide of red on my cheeks intensifies once he mentions kissing, and my throat gets dry. "Do you have a question for me?"

My curiosity is too strong, and suddenly a question pops into my head. I've been fighting it back for a while, because I cannot contradict myself. I can't ruin my destiny. I cannot shake off the core value keeping my inner tenacity burning bright. I ask it anyway. "What's the worst thing you've been through in your life?"

He cocks his head at me, and stares deep into my eyes. "It was when-" He stops to think, and then restarts. "I guess when Angelica broke up with me? Or maybe Ember. You know, they were all horrible girls, none of them anywhere near as kind or pretty as you."

That makes me smile, and we walk into the Training Center together. I feel so much lighter. Lord comes from somewhere as terrible as Twelve, and I've had a worse life than him. I've had a worse life than all of these people I bet. I have this. I have to have this, don't I?

* * *

 _How does the bastard, orphan, son of a whore_

 _Go on and on_

 _Grow into more of a phenomenon?_

 _Watch this obnoxious, arrogant, loudmouth bother_

 _Be seated at the right hand of the father_

 _Washington hires Hamilton right on sight But Hamilton still wants to fight, not write_

 _Now Hamilton's skill with a quill is undeniable_

 _But what do we have in common?_

 _We're Reliable with the Ladies!_

* * *

 ** _Lord Parthenia, 16_**

 ** _District Twelve Male_**

I watch as Soya walks a step ahead of me, a cheery smile on her face, and I know I've said the right thing.

Breaking up with a girl as the worst moment in my life? Laughable. Sure, I fall hard, and my heart breaks harder, but my life's been a fucked up mess since the start, really. I never knew my true parents. They either died or left me to die myself, or both most likely. I lived in a dingy orphanage for the first five years of my life, barely staying alive with not enough food and not enough nurture. Then Mom and Mama adopted me. I never think about them. Why should I think of the two women who loved me, who both died only a year apart? They raised me well enough and they gave me love, and then I lost them. Then I began to drink at 12, when Mama died and Mom was gone for a year. Tears were never really for me, and I had no other way to express my pain. I had to start working or sell the trinkets and the house my mothers left behind. They were rich, but I don't want to touch their story, their lives. It sits unblemished to this very day, everything the same as it was when Mama died. Then I started drinking and all that crap, having sex and watching strippers like Cressilda and binge drinking. So yeah. I've lost four parents, and I never had a childhood innocence no matter how hard my mothers tried. A stupid girl furrowing a divot into my heart isn't anywhere as terrible as that. All Soya did was lose one parent. But I can't shatter her bubble, or she might lose it all, and I need an ally. I'd also like to have company in the arena. It gets boring talking to yourself after a while, you know?

"Lord?" Soya inquires, flicking me on the cheek. "You're staring at the Loft. What is it?"

I quickly clear my head, and look over to her, flashing a smile. "I thought one of the Gamemakers looked like you," I grin, and her cheeks flood with heat and color once again. This poor girl is especially pliable. I could snap her in a moment if I wanted to. I could get her to shed her pants right here on the sweaty Training Center floor. I could get her to fall in love and marry me. I could get her to die for me. But I won't. She's pure. She's innocent. She's not the drunken whores who stumble through my bar, groping for someone to wipe away their pain, even if it's just for a single night. I don't take advantage of girls. I only let them take advantage of me. At least, that's what I usually intend to do.

"Come on, let's go to the edible plants station," Soya announces, grabbing my hand and tugging me softly to the left. Usually this station is crowded, but only about half of the tributes are done here at this point, so there's only one tribute there. It's the girl from Eight. She's spent most of her time here, and I watch as her fingers fly across the screen, matching plants and marking the pairs as edible or inedible without trouble. I let out a low whistle upon the sight of her completing an entire set of fifty plant pairs in under five minutes, and she falters a little bit and accidentally shuts off the touch screen. Soya smiles up at me as the girl turns and looks at me, confused a little, before turning the touch screen back on and resuming her game of practice.

I withhold a second whistle as the instructor stands to greet us, and it isn't because of her plant identification skills. She is a hella curvy woman with an unnaturally beautiful face, and she looks like she's only a few years older than me. She runs her eyes unabashedly across my form, and I involuntarily flex all of my muscles, my body tightly coiled as she stares right at me. She winks, her long, silver dusted lashes fluttering as she does so. My breath catches in my throat. I've rarely viewed such an exquisite specimen of the female body, and I feel my entire body burning to life.

"I'm Ambassa," she chuckles, shaking my hand firmly. Confident and strong, too. Soya makes to shake her hand, but Ambassa doesn't even look at her.

"I'm Lord," I reply, quirking my mouth in a small smile. I stop myself before I can make a flirtatious comment; I need to focus. Soya...I'm supposed to impress her and flirt with her and cement that we're going to have an alliance today. I can't be stuck staring at... _all of that._ "This is my good friend, Soya."

"Ah, your friend," Ambassa hisses, extending her milky white, smooth hand and clasping it lightly with Soya's for all of one second. "A _pleasure."_

I've never really had two girls fighting over me necessarily, but it's one of those situations playboys live for. Instead of you being the one that has to do all the work to score the girl, they have to do all of the work; it's a refreshing role reversal. And it can even lead to an infamous threesome if you play your cards right. Animosity and mutual hatred toes the line with lust and sexuality. That's the reason why you find yourself panting over the girl or guy who makes you furious. It's just human nature. But I don't need to have two girls trying to tear off my pants. I'm not breaking Soya's innocence no matter what, and Ambassa is probably secretly fifty years old or some crazy crap. And I need to train. I really need to at least learn one edible plant so I don't starve to death in the arena. That's a cruel fate, even for someone the likes of me.

"Could we start learning some plants?" I pipe up. Ambassa is looking into Soya's eyes with a frightening ferocity, and Soya is equal parts confused and wary.

"Did you say learning some pants?" Ambassa inquires, grinning. "I'd love to teach you about my pants."

"I think we already know stuff about pants," Soya barks, crossing her arms.

"I said plants," I pronounce clearly. "We need to learn plants. It's sweet of you to get all horny over me, I seriously appreciate it, but we need to learn this stuff."

Ambassa sighs, handing us each a little foldable. "Here's a booklet with the most common plants types. Review it, and then try and play the matching game that Gaia's playing." She looks up and calls out to Gaia. "You better give some others a turn today, honey!" Gaia nods dutifully before turning back to the screen. "If you have any questions, come see me." She turns to me, and whispers in my ear, "Questions about _anything_."

I quickly step away from Ambassa, my knuckles white from gripping the booklet so I won't spout back something flirty and endearing. Her body is like a pendulum, and if I keep looking at her, my will is going to dissolve, and I'll end up ruining my alliance and probably never even touching Ambassa.

Soya and I sit down a couple of feet away from Ambassa on a fluffy green rug. Plastic models of dozens of plants are strewn about the place. Soya picks one up and studies the intricate structures of its white blossom and slender light green stem. She flips through her booklet and pinpoints the location of the plant's entry.

"Snowblossom," Soya whispers. "Never heard of those before."

"Weren't they in Kenyan's Games? On the mountains, in the really snowy parts? The girl from Twelve ate them and hid up there and managed to make it pretty far. That's why I remember them," I utter, wringing my hands as I take the rubbery snowblossom from Soya.

"I wonder what plant will be our snowblossom this year," Soya murmurs, picking up a matte white root, turning it over in her hands thoughtfully.

"So we're allying for sure?" I inquire.

"Of course, silly!" Soya giggles. "I wouldn't be spending so much time with you if we weren't. Pumpkin would kill me."

"Alright. That's good to know," I reply, smiling a little. I hand back the snowblossom, and her hand squeezes mine as she takes it from me. Her innocent eyes gleam with something more. She cuts away instantly, and her posture relaxes, but I saw the look in her eyes for that moment, and it was enough. No matter what her head's telling her, be it to stay clear of me or to not get too attached, her body wants me. I've seen the look she just gave me too many times from other girls over the years of my bartending and drinking and whoring about. I don't know if I can give her what she really wants, though. It might cost her the Games.

* * *

 **A/N: It was fun to revisit this pair! I always like to write romance, and this is a little different from most of the romance I write, so it was enjoyable. I know a lot of Soya's wasn't actual training, but I feel like it would have gotten boringly repetitive to have Lord and her flirting and all that two POVs in a row. And I liked the transition to Lord's part. Who thought this dude had that depth? Sorry for the backstory dump a little, I just realized I never shared that, and I couldn't think of a subtle way to rewrite it after I finished it all up. So don't start demonizing him because of a lot of backstory or him being a sudden sympathy sue because it isn't that bad, I was just terrible and forgot to mention it in previous parts and I felt like this was a really good part to weave it in XD**

 **Good news: I got a new dog and track season starts tomorrow! Bad news: that means updates should be slowing down a little bit. I'm hoping to stick to the once-a-week regimen I've been doing lately out of habit, but I can't always guarantee that will happen, especially with the bigger chapters like Girls Meet World, Showstoppers, Interviews, etc. :)**

 **Trivia:**

 **Soya (1 pt.): Who says she looks good on the elevator?**

 **Lord (1 pt.): What is the name of the trainer who hits on him?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	45. Training Day 2: Showstoppers

**A/N: This took a while, but I was focusing on 500 Years of Penance since I've been lagging on that story for a while, and so laser focused on this one. I also went through a several day slump where I didn't really want to continue but that's just because of personal stuff, school, sports, and other stuff, so no worries everyone :) I have a four day weekend due to Easter and all that, and I might try to get another chapter out in this long weekend if I can. Today we have the Showstoppers Alliance, made up of Fuji LaMac, Millard Vaith, Ivy Cross, and Omri Plower! What a group! xD Enjoy!**

 **Trigger warnings: Sexual references and profanity**

* * *

 _And I could never say that I hate you_

 _I mean I guess I could, but it ain't true_

 _I swear it's me, not you_

 _Please don't tell me you want me_

 _Please don't say you do_

 _Honestly, it's not you it's me_

 _I just have trust issues_

* * *

 ** _Fuji LaMac, 17_**

 ** _District Three Female_**

I tug at my wild hair weakly as Millard and I ride down to the Training Center in the elevator along with Takami and his little friend, Emma. She actually came out of their room last night and shyly introduced herself. She seems a little familiar, but I don't know from where. She's his companion, apparently. I don't know if that means that they're cousins or friends, or if that means that they're crazy sex animals copulating hourly, or if that means that they're in a forever relationship without a ring and a legal document. I didn't ask, and neither did Millard. It wasn't our place to. We sat there in silence and ate our food, making chat only when necessary. Takami's a decent Mentor; he keeps the balance between friendly and business well. But since neither myself nor Millard have that much technical experience, he seems to be at a loss of how to tell us to win besides hoping for the best and arming ourselves. I bet he usually tells kids to find a power source and a way to kill other tributes with it; tons of Three kids who survive the Bloodbath at least try to do it. But the only things I do at the factory are eroding my lungs and make sure the machines don't break down; the mechanics are the ones that fix them. And Millard hasn't had a smidge of grease on him in his entire life, so he's useless at it to. But Takami's trying, and that's all you can really ask for, right?

"Why are you coming down with us?" Millard speaks up. He looks as rough as I do; bags under his eyes, his hair a mess, and his body tired and sagging. We've marathoned four of the nine JB:TFGRCBD,TSH,SVGSABN volumes over the course of the past two nights. Volume Four, the one we started on, was a lull in the series's arc. The others are actually rather engaging. Takami made us stop halfway through Volume Six last night so we'd get at least a scrap of sleep. We didn't even have enough time to fix ourselves up; we woke up, threw on our training clothes and ate a quick breakfast. The definition of a quick breakfast is eating a piece of toast while pulling on your almost-too-tight black stretchy pants that you have to wear for training. I tried to convince Takami to let us stay in our room all day and watch the rest of the movies, but he refused to.

"Emma's not feeling the best, and there's a good physician on the Training Room floor of this building that no one ever visits until they have to right before Private Sessions. So why not utilize him?" Takami replies, cracking his knuckles before reaching back to take Emma's hand. She seems a little worried to see his hand entwined in hers. So maybe they're not crazy sex animals. Or maybe that's only when they're alone. I know I'm not one for PDA.

Thoughts of PDA and crazy wild sex bring be back to thoughts of Cartenya. I quickly push her away, not even a moment's time spent on her. Today is time for training. I need to perfect the trap I've been trying to learn to build (one of us has to at least seem to be the stereotypical smart Three kid for the audience's enjoyment), and I need to focus on strengthening myself as well. And I also need to navigate alliance waters; Millard and I seem to have an pretty solid one that hasn't quite been fully established? Only sort of partially kinda? We've been fraternizing with the Seven girl, Ivy, and the Eleven boy, Omri, who've already made a silent pact of their own. Maybe we'll make another silent pact interconnecting all of us. Although I don't know if I want that many people in an alliance. Millard is easy to keeps tabs of; I love the kid, but I don't see him backstabbing me. Now Ivy and Omri? They seem like the strong type that would discard me once we hit one of the Tops in tributes left. As the old adage says; keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. They're some of the most lethal Outliers in the Games, so it'll be beneficial to keep stronger targets around me so I'm not the focal point if we ever get attacked by another tribute or group.

The elevator opens with a short ping, revealing one of the entrances into the Training Center. Takami and Emma stay in the elevator to ride down to the floor below, where the physician's office is located along with mostly unused offices for the trainers and staff managers on the Fun Floors, along with storage. Millard and I accidentally rode down there on the first day, and we got shooed out by a petite woman slurring rushed words at us in a thick accent. Takami explained it to be some sort of Capitol accent that the richest of the rich have, but I don't remember much about it. It doesn't really matter which stupid Capitol accent comes from which neighborhood here when I'm fighting for my survival, now does it?

Takami would counter with the fact that knowing where a possible sponsor is from based on their voice could help me make a connection and save me later in the Games, and Millard would quietly support him after a silent minute of thought. Emma would lurk in the room, never coming out except to eat, and Luizy would make some anecdote that doesn't fit to teach me a convoluted life lesson. Already I know the dynamic of our little group, and it's a little disheartening to know that the sound of a few wind chimes and at least one cannon is going to tear it all to shreds.

Millard and I stride down the sleek hallway and into the training center, chatting in subdued tones about what might happen in the next Volume and chuckling a little as we do so. Millard holds open the door for me, and I step through, thanking him in a voice mocking that of the woman who yelled at us yesterday. I get the weird Capitol accent, the...Saroque? Yes, Saroque, accent wrong, mucking it up, and Millard's chuckles are throatier like they always are when he's really amused.

"Calm down, Mr. Giggles," I snort with a small smile on my face. "Let's find Ivy and Omri."

"Present!" a feminine voice calls, and I turn to the left to see Ivy bounding forward towards us, Omri walking normally a few paces behind her. Ivy grins genially once she reaches us, and she opens her mouth to say something but closes it, instead waiting for her partner in crime. Omri comes to a halt next to her moments later, and we all stand there for several moments, unsure of how to continue with the day.

"So we're doing this," I mutter after some time. I'm met with three slowly nodding heads. "Okay."

"Should we do a meet and greet?" Omri suggests meekly, his gaze sweeping across the other three of us. "You know, name, age, all that good stuff."

"What are we at, an alcoholic's seminar?" Ivy guffaws, grinning. "I think we just spend the day together and get to know each other as we train."

"Well, we can't travel as a quartet," Millard inserts, clasping his hands behind his back. "They only let three people at a station at once."

"Then we split into pairs?" I comment, cocking my head a little.

"I'll go with Fuji," the Eleven boy tells us. I'm a little surprised by his choice. "We can talk about all the injustices our people face."

"Who? Blacks?" Ivy quips. "Sorry if you find that word offensive. In my little snow white town, they don't teach us another word."

"Nope, not our skin color," Omri replies, his mouth spreading into an eager smile. "Those of us who are too tired to listen to Ivy chatter incessantly."

"I don't-" Ivy begins, and then she sighs. "Sorry. I just get this way when I'm excited. You should see me at home. I'm a _lot_ more fun there." She rolls her eyes, and Omri's laugh is hollow. I don't need to know, nor do I want to.

Within minutes, Omri and I are heading off to whichever station strikes our fancy first, while Ivy takes Millard to hatchets to try and help him learn how to handle one properly along with the instructor. Omri's tall, and strong, and pretty handsome. By the looks of him, he was born and raised in the fields probably. I feel like a little sprite next to him, even though he's just a little taller and muscular. He must've been pretty popular back home by the looks of him.

"So you miss your hometown?" I inquire as we stand in between stations, unsure of where to go.

"Not at all," Omri chortles weakly. "I'm almost happy that I'm here in a sense, to be away from them all. Not all of them, but most of them."

"Ditto," I sigh, looking at the ground. "I think that's why we're all magnetized to one another."

"Maybe," Omri murmurs. "Maybe." I can't even think of a reply.

* * *

 _You know my type_

 _Tightrope across the table_

 _Mmhmm, uh huh, I can't keep holding my breath_

 _New wave, no time_

 _Red velvet under pressure_

 _Blah blah, green eyes_

 _I never leave it unsaid_

 _Why can't I leave it unsaid?_

 _You know I talk too much_

* * *

 ** _Ivy Cross, 16_**

 ** _District Seven Female_**

"So I take it that you've never done manual labor in your life?" I inquire, resisting the urge to snigger as his arms struggle to lift the heavy axe. Millard brushes me off with a simple eye roll, a maneuver he's plainly mastered just as well as I have.

"So I take it that you're an entitled little girl?" he shoots back with a small smile creeping onto his lips. His retort is almost tentative, like he's testing the waters to make sure I'm fine with this joking and prodding. That's nice of him. Luckily for him, I love to kid around. Unluckily for him, I sometimes like to take my joking to the next level.

"What did you just say?" I whisper, forcing my eyes bug out. Millard immediately straightens, fully on alert.

"Ohmygosh, Ivy honey, I'm sorry, I don't want to open old wounds if I did, I have enough of them myself, and I really need you as an ally so please-" he begins, his words flowing fast and thick. But they're concise and understandable, and he has an almost calming tone. Really nice.

"Honey?! What are you, my boyfriend?!" I shriek, crossing my arms. The trainer is looking at me skeptically; I trained here yesterday, so he knows me a bit, and doesn't seem to understand why I'm doing what I'm doing. That makes me want to laugh, the perplexed expression on his face, but I keep the giggles at bay. Millard is just staring at me open mouthed, and I can almost hear his thoughts.

"Fuji is so not going to be happy with me," Millard murmurs under his breath, not thinking I can hear him. I had a feeling he was thinking about what she'd think. They already seem close, really close, after only a couple of days, and they assume Omri and I are the same. We're pretty good buds, but we're nowhere near as close as the Threes. And their closeness frightens me just a little. Who isn't worried about a good, old fashioned, trusting District partner duo?

"All you worry about is Fuji! What about little old ME!" I fake fainting, swooning a little bit. I stagger off of the mat and fall onto my butt. I let myself plummet backwards as I brandish my hand in an airy fashion across my forehead. My back smacks into the sweaty mat, and I'm staring up into Millard's glistening eyes. I pretend to sob as I say, "The pain! THE PAIN! THE PAAAAIN!" I can't help myself; I'm laughing after the third _pain_ , and Millard's worried grimace turns into a little smile. He rolls his eyes again and helps me to his feet, shaking his head slowly.

"The little entitled girl can act," Millard chuckles.

"She can also pick up an axe. Something someone _cough cough Millard here cough cough_ can't seem to figure out," I fire back, sniggering.

"Well, what about hatchets?" Millard almost whines in a way. "They look lighter."

"Alright, wimp," I reply with a toothy grin. "Hey, Serge, hatchets please?"

The trainer, Sergio, nods curtly. He unlocks the small rack of weapons standing beside him, and he draws out two hatchets, one in each hand. Lightweight and metallic, they're the type of Seven-esque weapon I prefer. Axes can do more damage, but hatchets are easier to carry and maneuver. And while I have enough brawn to lift an axe, it gets tiring after a little bit; hatchets are by far the easier thing to deal out blows with.

I grab both hatchets before turning to Millard. "Sure you can hold it?"

"Oh shut up," Millard snaps, tugging the hatchet out of my hand.

"Careful. These are sharp weapons," Sergio reminds us in a clipped, reserved tone. One not paying attention would peg it to sound bored, but really it just sounds calm.

"Sorry sir," Millard replies, stiffening almost immediately. He straightens to his full height again, his back ramrod straight, and I look up at him quizzically for a moment before moving on. The past means nothing here unless it's related to how well you can kill or survive. I don't want to know what the hell happened to him in the smoggy streets of Three, and I doubt he wants to know what happened to me among the towering conifers of Seven.

"Spar?" I inquire.

"Excuse me?" Millard questions, cocking his head at me.

"Fight?" I say with an involuntarily forceful tone. Millard chews on his lip and glances at the ever-watching sentry named Sergio.

"I think I need to learn how first," he tells me, and I nod in silent agreement. Sergio nabs another hatchet of his own and strides to Millard's side in two steps. In moments the muscular, balding man is showing Millard how to wield the weapon properly. A grin creeps onto Millard's face as the rather handsome man adjusts his footing and arms, and I narrow my eyes for a moment before turning away, shaking my head. I don't want to know, really.

I find a dummy to massacre standing several feet from the mats. I set down my hatchet and drag the heavy thing over to the mat. It weighs as much as I do, and I'm winded by the time I get it standing on its own on the left side of the large mat. Millard is going through a basic exercise now, stepping in a circle and hacking and slashing with Sergio watching carefully, walking around the circle with him and dropping advice.

I turn to my dummy and slash my hatchet forward. It easily buries itself in the space between the neck and the shoulder, skidding along the collarbone and burying itself in the inner base of the neck. Blue liquid oozes forth, and when I withdraw the weapon, everything stitches itself back together. I go for the knees this time, slashing both open. The dummy sags to the ground, and I attack the face, slicing off the nose and flaying skin from the forehead as the knees fix themselves. By the time I've made the eyes soggy, liquidy pits of nothingness, the nose is already whole once again. I almost wish that they would stay apart for a little longer, so Sergio could give me pointers on how to be more efficient and all that. He said that my biggest weakness when fighting is lacking finesse. I like to hack anything that I can more than going for a single delicate region and ending it in a single sweep of my weapon.

After about a half hour of me demolishing the dummy, the dummy stitching itself back together, and Millard being trained relentlessly by the placid Sergio, Millard calls for a break. He goes to get water and returns a couple of minutes later, and I'm there waiting for him, hand outstretched to shake.

"Ready to fight, Mr. Can't Lift An Axe?" I quip.

"If I get to beat your ass, Miss Likes To Make People Feel Bad So She Throws Fake Tantrums To Embarrass Them," Millard breathes in response.

"Too long of an insult. It lost its burn," I comment. "And then let's go, _honey_."

"You can't fight each other," Sergio breaks through, ending our possible sparring session. "It's in the rule book."

"Damn rule book," I mutter. "I'll go against you first, Serge, show Millard here how it's done." I wink back at him, and he starts to laugh.

Sergio and I start at opposite ends of the mat. We both have new hatchets, blunt ones made for sparring. Millard claps his hands to signal the start of the match. Sergio quickly takes the offensive, lunging forward and sweeping his hatchet through the air. I barely dodge it, and I slash at his kneecap. He dances out of the way. He darts forward and swings, missing purposefully. I lean backwards too far and fall to the ground. Moments later, Sergio is towering over me, hatchet raised, and I see my father and hear my mother's screams and everything is crashing down around me. The cold glass windows and the lonely starry nights and pressing ice to the bruises and the sleek black casket and the everything, I won't think about it, but it's coming at me and it won't stop, his fist won't stop-

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" I yell, curling up in a ball, shaking. Sergio drops his weapon and kneels by my side, asking me if I'm alright. I freeze, having no clue of what just happened. I feel blank. I clear my throat, staggering my feet, saying that I'm fine while everything knits itself back together in my mind. I've never had a panic attack like that before, and I can't even remember what I just thought about, it was just a blurry slur of events. I look up at Millard's eyes, and he looks scared almost. I know he wants to ask. But he doesn't. It's better not to know. Nothing matters here but survival. Knowing just weighs you down. And I can't be weighed down. I have to be free, free like a little birdie, free enough to run for my life and maybe run all the way back to my cold little home in Seven. We all know how to run already, I'm sure. I see the look in their eyes. I might not know exact things, but I know something happened to each of us. A stinging fist, a broken heart, an empty stomach, a fake smile. We all know how to run; we have before, too many times before. Now it'll all be about who can run the fastest.

* * *

 _Take me where you want to be_

 _We would burn in the summer rain_

 _Now take me back to that summer day_

 _Tell me how you took ahold of me_

 _It feels like yesterday_

 _Now take me back to that summer day_

 _The young still have their ways_

 _Foolish and fumbling through their days_

 _Until the winter of their summer love_

 _But without you a colorless pane_

 _Stretches past what my eyes can strain_

 _Cold again, I think of when you arrived on a summer day_

* * *

 _ **Omri Plower, 18**_

 _ **District Eleven Male**_

It's a little strange, working alongside Fuji at the water station. It's not uncomfortable but any means, and we have little time to talk, since this is more of an instruction station, not a hands on station, and Priscilla doesn't like when we chatter over her. But the two of us are more serious, and there's Millard and Ivy dancing around the axes and hatchets station like it's their birthdays, laughing and screaming and joking with each other. Fuji's sense of humor's a little more bitter, a little more refined, and I like that well enough. It's nice to have a break from Ivy. She's a nice girl, but sometimes she doesn't realize how consuming her personality can become, with all of her talking and joking and socializing, etc. And, anyway, it's better to know how to treat your water than how to fling a hatchet in my opinion.

"Water naturally drains to lower areas, like valleys. Always look there for water, and the Gamemakers will reward you for your knowledge and strong memory most times, from my experience," Priscilla informs us in her clipped tone. Her voice carries a tangy accent that Fuji begrudgingly mentions is from some Capitol neighborhood under her breath. She's older than most of the trainers, with coppery red hair that must be dyed and a rotund figure. She's serious and concise, informative and clear. It's helpful to listen to her prattle on about water; hopefully some of it will stick.

"What do you do if the arena is entirely flat?" Fuji interjects.

"That seldom happens, dear. There'll never be a perfectly flat arena, I'd bet my life on it. But if you are in a large, flat area, follow signs of life. Everything needs water for survival. Look for lush patches of vegetation; they get their nourishment from nearby bodies of water most times. Animals, like insects and birds, are usually found near water sources. Find animal tracks, and they often times converge near a water source. There are many signs; look for all of them while you're searching for water. Besides avoiding anything imminently about to kill you, finding water is the most important thing you can do in the arena. It's sad that most tributes skip over this station; I have to watch gruesome dehydration deaths many years, because they didn't come to me."

I nod along, trying to be nice as Priscilla delves further into which types of vegetation most need water, and thus are almost exclusively found near sites containing water. At least she has emotions and sympathy for those who are ensnared by the Games, but her people force us to come here, to train for a gruesome fight to the death. She wouldn't have to watch those deaths if they fixed this entire crooked system, but it's too late for that, too late for me. I have to fight my way out of this now that I'm in it. You can't put fruit back on the branch after it's been picked. It's irreversible, so now I have to get through it all.

"Omri?" Fuji says, elbowing me. I perk up, looking at the other two. Fuji is unreadable, and Priscilla is looking at me with her head cocked, trying to keep the disappointment out of her bronze-flecked-with-silver eyes.

"Yeah?" I reply weakly, repositioning myself on the ground of the station so I'm less comfortable. Therefore, I'll pay more attention I hope.

"She was just asking us a question to review about finding water in flat areas," Fuji murmurs, looking down at her hands after she speaks. She becomes suddenly interested in the tiny lines etched into her darker skin as Priscilla's metallic eyes bore into me.

"Well, let's continue," Priscilla announces in a hard voice. "Now that you know about how to find water, it's time to know how to treat it. No water will be fully safe anywhere in the wilderness, and the same goes for water in the arena. Some of it you can drink without much problem, but in the Games the risk of drinking polluted or diseased water is ever higher due to the Gamemakers wanting to stir things up. It is imperative that you only drink unpurified water if you are literally on the brink of dying from dehydration. Never drink water before treating it if you can go longer without it, or if you can wait to purify it in some fashion."

"How do you purify it?" I inquire, trying to seem involved. This is important stuff, I just can't get myself to pay attention. My mind keeps wanting to drift off as she talks. She sounds a lot like my freshman teacher, Mrs. Holtzman, although Priscilla is much better fed than that scrap of a woman was.

"Preferably, use iodine," Priscilla answers, picking up a small brownish bottle from the ground beside her, where different filters and models of water sources are strewn. She unscrews the cap and pours out a couple of small circular tablets. They're a murky forest green color, and seem a little bit grainy. She grabs a jug of water that seems mostly clean and plops a few of the capsules into the water.

"This water might seem clean, but it's pumped full of bacteria and other things that can kill you in a matter of days and/or hurt you, like making you ill with diarrhea, which is not fun to have in the arena," Priscilla informs. "All iodine tablets in the arena take a half hour to finish their job. If you drink before that, it's not safe and it might not be fully clean."

"So iodine can take out all that disgusting algae and everything?" Fuji asks.

"Not necessarily. It's a smart idea to sift or strain your water if you can to get rid of bigger debris like plant or animal matter, like algae or insects." Priscilla picks up a dirty jug of water, an empty container, an a thin mesh piece of netting. She pours the polluted water over the strainer, and it catches the small twigs, clumps of algae, and other things. The water is murky when it comes through the filter, and it still needs to be purified, but it's free of bigger pollutants.

"Another way to clean your water is to boil it," Priscilla adds. "This is risky, as a fire can attract others to you, but if you're desperate and have the means to do so, it can be an easy way to get clean water. Water is the most important survival skill aspect for the Games, especially in wilderness arenas, and is one of the most important aspects overall. I have some review sheets you can take with you to study for the rest of this pre-Games period." Priscilla hands us each a small booklet that she had written by hand in her legible cursive. She scanned the notes and then printed them up by the dozens just for tributes like us.

"Thank you," Fuji and I chime together, and we really mean it. I won't remember half of what she said today, but she tried and she truly seemed to care, and that's more than I can say about a lot of people that are involved with myself and the Games.

"You're welcome," Priscilla mutters with a small smile as we stand. "Good luck to the two of you. I'll be rooting for you."

"Thank you," I whisper again under my breath as we walk away from the station.

"That was informative," Fuji sighs. "Too bad I suck at memorization. Maybe I should trade in my promise ring so I can bring this pamphlet into the arena as my token." Her laugh is hollow, and I can tell she hates the joke the moment it's out of her mouth. She tucks the booklet under her arm and starts to play with the ring on her finger absentmindedly. During the station, she wasn't looking at her hands; she was looking at the ring.

Suddenly a chorus of wind chimes sings through the air; lunch has somehow already arrived. It ends with a loud ringing noise, and I can see a few tributes already making their way over there. Fuji curses under her breath as we walk over to the edible insects station, where Ivy and Millard are shutting down the memorization matching game they've been playing for the past twenty minutes.

"We need to go to snares for the second half; I need to work on a trap I've been learning to build," Fuji comments, and I nod my head. It would be helpful to know how to put together a basic snare so I can catch some food when I'm inevitably on my own towards the end of the Games. We walk in silence until we reach Millard and Ivy. The two are laughing about something, and I look at them, a little shocked. They seem to be getting along so well. Fuji and I, we get along, but we don't have an instant connection that these two seem to have. Fuji suddenly looks on edge, and I understand why. I'm close to Ivy and Millard is close to Ivy now. She might seem, at least to Fuji, to control a majority of the group, leaving her further on the outskirts.

"Hey, Mill, how was your time with the little wood fairy?" Fuji jokes in a non-joking voice. Neither Ivy nor Millard seems to realize her sudden change of mood, and Millard just laughs some more, commenting on how it's been great, blah blah blah. The conversation continues, mostly between Ivy and Millard. I make a few jokes as we all stride to the lunch room. I'm usually more upbeat than this, more like Ivy, but something's struck a chord with me. Seeing Fuji already calculating her odds and everything has made me realize that I need to do that as well, that I need to start truly thinking about what's happening and what will happen. And that means that I might have to be less comical and friendly than I have been in the past couple of days with Ivy and others.

It's like the gong's already rang, and I'm not even on my pedestal yet. I've got some serious catching up to do.

* * *

 _I feel it coming out my throat_

 _Guess I better wash my mouth out with soap_

 _God, I wish I never spoke_

 _Now I gotta wash my mouth out with soap_

 _Think I got myself in trouble_

 _So I fill the bath with bubbles_

 _Then I'll put the towels all away_

 _Should've never said the word "love"_

 _Threw a toaster in the bathtub_

 _I_ _'m sick of all the games I have to play_

 _I'm tired of being careful, tiptoe, trying to keep the water warm_

 _Let me under your skin_

 _Uh-oh, there it goes, I said too much, it overflowed_

 _Why do I always spill?_

* * *

 ** _Millard Vaith, 18_**

 ** _District Three Male_**

We get into the lunch line without much trouble. Ivy begins to chatter about her time in the lumberyards after I mention about how she seemed pretty experienced with the axes and hatchets. She and Omri, the other outdoor laborer, quickly pick up a line of jokes and empathetic comments about what it's like to work daily shifts under the sun, and I'm out of the conversation. I don't want to sound stuck up and say, "One time my aunt made me help her in her garden for twenty minutes and it was weird to feel dirt under my fingernails?" or "I once had to move furniture with my friends from the _Party Gals_ group chat and I had to carry an ottoman and a lamp down two flights of stairs." I don't fit into the conversation, so I'll stay out of it.

Fuji could leap in, I guess. While she can't relate to the dirt under her fingernails like myself, she can empathize with the sore, aching limbs and the low wages and the creaking, rusted machinery. But she doesn't speak, watching the other two with barely-hidden contempt.

"What's wrong, girl?" I ask. We're at the start of the line, and as it moves forward, we pass the stack of trays. I grab one for myself, and a second for Fuji. I hand it to her, and she sighs, taking it from me and smiling at me in thanks.

"Well, I..." Fuji trails off. "I don't trust them." She whispers the last sentence, her voice low and husky so almost no one else besides the scrawny Eight boy behind us, who isn't paying attention, can hear her.

"I know it's sudden-" I begin.

"Millard, they scare me. Especially _Ivy_ ," she says, her voice steely when she says the Seven girl's name.

"Did I hear my name?" Ivy pipes from a couple people in front of us, where she's getting mashed potatoes plopped onto her plate by a skinny Avox.

"We were talking about you making fun of me at the axes station!" I holler back swiftly, and Ivy just chuckles, moving forward in line to receive more food.

"Nice recovery," Fuji murmurs.

"Oh come on girl, they're fine," I sigh. "I know they seem a little finicky at times, especially Ivy, but we'll be okay. We at least go through the Bloodbath with them, split the supplies, and go our separate ways from them if things aren't working out."

"She scares me," is Fuji's only reply, and I just bite my lip and keep my emotions at bay. Ivy is funny and Omri is nice, but Fuji is my _friend._ We've formed an extraordinary bond over the course of only a handful of days, and I wouldn't jeopardize that for anything. Ivy and Omri are sociable and strong and would be great to have in the arena, but if my closest ally doesn't want them to stick around, then they won't stick around. I hope she feels just as close to me, because we'll need each other that much if either of us is going to have any chance in hell.

We go through the line pretty fast, and we both pile our trays to the brim with food. One of Takami's focal pieces of advice was to bulk up as much as humanly possible, so we're carb-loading and sugar-loading and vegetable-loading and even water-loading, getting ourselves packed with nutrients and all of that so we have a little more to live off of in the arena. Omri and Ivy also have pretty loaded trays, and we all just simply eat and drink for a little while, the only sound at our table chewing and slurping.

"So, icebreaker," Omri finally speaks up. "Fuji, I just have to ask; where the heck did Fujitsa come from?"

Fuji's laugh is bitter and breviary, and she sort of smiles at Omri. "It was quite the riddle for me, but I think I finally figured it out last year. They have this thing in Three's schools called 'Technological History'. Of course, it seemed like an easy class. Not an easy class. But since it seemed easy, I took it. Turns out, Fujitsu was a tech company from a really long time ago. Like before-our-great-grandfathers-were-even-conceived ago. So I'm guessing that must be where it came from. My parents did meet in their Technological History class I found out not soon after, so that might be why."

"That's interesting, like seriously," Omri laughs. "Mine's boring. It means 'my sheaf'. When I was born, my dad wanted to name me something related to the District. He wanted to name me _Asparagus_ and call me Gus. Thankfully, my mom managed to convince him to settle with Omri because it's District related but isn't too weird like Asparagus. I would've died if I was named Asparagus Plower." I smile and Ivy is chuckling loudly.

"No way. _No way,"_ Ivy giggles. "There is no way that your father was going to name you Asparagus. Does he raise asparagus or something?"

"He was born on a farm where they harvested asparagus among other things," Omri mentions, suddenly gloomy looking. "And it was his favorite vegetable."

The silence that falls over the table for the next twenty seconds is nearly unbearable, and I'm about to break the silence when Ivy shatters it.

"My name's origin is controversial," Ivy tells us. "My mom told me she wanted to name me Ivy when I was little because she wanted me to grow up like ivy grows up a wall. My one brother tells me it's because I'm poisonous and a bitch, and my father told me he named me Ivy because it was the only Seven-like name he could think of that, and I quote, 'didn't sound like the name of some whore at a brothel.' As you can see, everything in my family's pretty contested."

"Millard, what about your name? It's pretty interesting for Three," Omri says once Ivy's done. I just stare at them blankly, and a realization dawns on me.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?" Ivy jeers, crossing her arms. "Come on, your parents have had to have told you why you were named Millard."

"I really don't know," I reply, my voice gaining an edge. I don't know because my parents never told me. It just reminds me of how damn distant they were and all of that crap, and I don't want to think about any of that period, so it's getting on my nerves that way Ivy keeps pushing the issue.

"I don't care if it's embarrassing or something, like come on, mine is pretty awful, just tell-"

"He doesn't know, Ivy," Fuji snaps, sounding almost furious. "And even if he did, when someone obviously doesn't want to talk about something you don't press it."

Everything falls silent, and Ivy is trying not scowl at a half mortified, half satisfied Fuji while Omri and I look on, both a little shocked I guess. I clear my throat and eyeball Fuji as hard as I can, trying to communicate one thing with my intense stare and waggling eyebrows and firm set mouth: _Apologize to her now or we're both dead weight and we won't stand a damn chance, and I'm not ruining my chance to be in a strong alliance because you can't keep your trap shut honey._

She gets it, and quietly she murmurs, "I'm sorry. It's just intense here and I'm having...trouble dealing with the pressure of this new environment and everything that's going on, you know?" I can see her wince a little as she tells the lie. If anything, Fuji is the most assimilated to the Games way of thinking of our quartet thus far. She's starting to adapt easily while the rest of us are still disjointedly stumbling along in most respects. Ivy just nods genuinely however; she seems to have bought it, which is a relief. No matter if we like it or not, we both need this alliance to propel us a little farther into the Games. They'll help us get through the Bloodbath, they'll help us get through the first week, and then we can split from them when the Games really get kicking.

The rest of lunch is eaten with mild talking, and then when the lunch break is over, we return to our usual pairs. Ivy and Omri head off to work on the agility course, while Fuji and I head to the snares station. The trainer, a lithe looking man named Iodus, greets us with a simple smile from where he is crouched on the ground, helping the Nine girl put together a simple twitch snare. Fuji and I sit down next to the half finished trap she was working on yesterday. She was recreating it from a model that Iodus built. It's not exactly a conventional trap. A miniature catapult, rustic and basic and squeaky but workable, it should be a good defense to accentuate our alliance's strength with mostly short range weapons, like axes and swords and daggers.

"I'm sorry," Fuji mentions after a little bit. She's become focused on building her catapult, and I'm watching Iodus help...Sage I think her name is? build a twitch snare and recreating it so I know how to make one myself. I turn to her and the entire twitch snare falls apart, but I don't really care.

"It's alright," I sigh. "Just know it's you and me to the end girl, no matter what. You're Penelopee Elsannam's Unnamed Sidekick Girl to my Frippery Tubman's James Bond."

Fuji chuckles. "Still can't believe they haven't given her a name. And why am I the sidekick?!"

"Who do you think is more like a flamboyant gay rodeo cowboy, me or you?"

"Touche."

* * *

 **A/N: Finally I am so sorry this took forever! I've just been busy, and I also have devoted all of my writing time to 500 Years of Penance, which I've become really obsessed over. However, these four great characters pulled me back in, and it was great to write them all again! :D**

 **By the way, my new dog is 4 years old. Her name is Abby and she is a black lab. I also have a 6 year old black lab named Shady, also a girl. They both send their love as they lay on my living room carpet, snoring obnoxiously XD Track is also going well! I've gotten my 400 down to 69 seconds, which is an accomplishment for someone like me XD**

 **Who did you like the most here? Who did you like the least? How many kids do you think I might be killing off in the Bloodbath?**

 **Thanks again for waiting, and I hope you're all still there to read! :D**

 **Trivia:**

 **Fuji (1 pt.): What is the weird Capitol accent called?**

 **Ivy (1 pt.): What is the hatchet/axe trainer's name?**

 **Omri (1 pt.): What is one way to find water in an entirely flat arena?**

 **Millard (1 pt.): What did Omri's father want to name him?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	46. Training Day 2: Loners Part 1

**A/N: I worked hard this long weekend to get out a second chapter, and here it is, just for all of you! :D Here we have the final group for this Training Day 2, the first half of our six loners! Today I present to you: Fender Hopkins, Calico D'Amboise, and Luke Saturn! Enjoy your reading, and I hope it's a good one! :D**

 **Trigger warnings: Sexual references and profanity**

* * *

 _All I am is a man_

 _I want the world in my hands_

 _I hate the beach_

 _But I stand_

 _In California with my toes in the sand_

 _Use the sleeves of my sweater_

 _Let's have an adventure_

 _Head in the clouds but my gravity's centered_

 _Touch my neck and I'll touch yours_

 _You in those little high-waisted shorts, oh_

* * *

 _ **Fender Hopkins, 17**_

 _ **District Six Male**_

I scoop the last spoonful of macaroni and cheese that's on my tray into my mouth. There's nothing left except a few smears of leftover liquidy cheese and mashed potatoes caught in the grooves of the tray. That and one grisly piece of fat from the beef that I didn't want to put the effort into chewing to oblivion. I stand up from the table, where I've been sitting alone. The only other one who sat with me was Libby, who's also going solo it seems. She was talking with several other girls yesterday, but now she seems definitively on her own. She didn't even say a darn word to me, not that I minded. We sat on opposite ends of the table and ate and no one else came near us.

Sure, I'd like to have an ally or two, but it seems like all the good ones have already been taken. I didn't act fast enough or something, and now only the sloppy seconds, including myself, are left over. Hell, even the pipsqueak from Five and the pregnant girl from Twelve have allies, albeit in each other, but still. All I have left to choose from, well...let's just say they're not the type of kids you'd put on a showcase for best ally options.

You have the ex-addict from my District, Libby, who's bitter and haunted by voices and probably would ally with you just to kill you in your sleep. Then you have the Seven kid, named some weird name that is related to royalty. He was on death row and I don't even want to know what he did. The Eight kid is a puny brat that prattles off about how unfair this all is or sulks most of the time. He doesn't stand a crash dummy's chance of surviving a plunge in a car off of his own ego. The Nine boy seems like a good choice, until you try to talk like him like I did. Want to know his reply? ... You're waiting for me to say something? I was just telling you what the Nine guy said. Because I asked if he wanted to go to sickles with me, and he literally stared at me and walked away. How joyous. That left me with only one other option, the Ten dude. He seemed pretty nice, if a little weak and forgettable. But he didn't show up to training today, along with the girls from Five and Twelve. So I'm out of options, I guess, unless I want to try and worm my way to the bottom of the pecking order in whatever alliances have already solidified. I guess I'll probably be better off alone than trying to sneak into an alliance or make one with any of the other leftovers at this point.

After emptying the few scraps left on my tray into the trash bin, I set my dirty metal platter on top of the others by the doorway before reentering the Training Center. This is some of my last time, besides a couple of hours tomorrow, to work on any skills I might already have, and to learn new ones. I can't say that I've been terribly great at this so far. Yesterday I stayed in my comfort zone, working at weights and wrestling almost the entire day, only travelling to sickles for forty five minutes and edible insects for less than fifteen. Today I tried to add some variety, but I just found myself spending a lot of time at hand to hand combat. They're all good skills, these strength ones, but I'm better at them than most things. I need to try something else.

With my five hours, I decide to try out throwing knives, a relatively new and possibly essential skill to learn. There's only one other tribute there: the silent Seven boy, who throws several knives in quick succession and lands most of them on the target. The trainer applauds him as the boy goes to retrieve them from the board. As I approach, Seven gives me a cursory glance before taking his position at the line. He throws again, and his knife hits close to the center, his best throw yet. The trainer's attention turns to me as I arrive, standing next to him. I clear my throat, and he whirls towards me, laughing loudly.

"Wow, ya scared me there buddy!" he squeaks in a strange voice. It's equal parts raspy and high pitched, and it makes me feel off kilter. I blink my eyes several times and just will him not to speak another word. But of course, I know little about throwing knives. And to learn how to throw them, I'm going to have to listen to this man, named Liniciaeus, or "Lini" for short (he informs me of this as I wince, shaking his sweaty, loose hand).

"Sir, you can just lead me through the basics and then I'll figure it out myself," I tell him respectfully, bowing my head a little.

"Someone's quite polite! You a rich fancy shmancy drug lord or somethin? That's the only way people make nice money out in your little drug den of a District, ain't it?"

"I'm a mechanic's apprentice," I say through clenched teeth. "I don't sell drugs, nor have I even taken them."

"You seem like a strong, attractive buck," Lini rasps. "So what have you done wrong?" He raises a suggestive eyebrow, and I ignore him. I grab a handful of throwing knives from the table before stalking over to the targets. I draw back my arm and hurl, watching as the knife spirals through the air and glances off of the side of the target, clattering to the floor.

"Not half bad," a definitely-not-the-voice-of-perverted-Lini voice says behind me. I turn around to see the tall Eleven boy behind me, his ally, the girl from Seven, behind him. His skin's a couple of shades darker than mine, and his small smile is kind. The Seven boy leaves the station without a word after trading a simple nod with his District partner, and the two tributes take knives of their own and start throwing alongside me.

Seven isn't that terrible, getting about half of her knives somewhere on the outer edges of the target. Then Eleven goes, and I'm shocked as I watch him hurl knife after knife at the target. They all hit it, almost all of them hitting the inner three of six rings. He grins, satisfied, and wipes his hands on his pants.

"Please teach me. Uncle Pervy there is being to enamored with the sweaty children around him to help," I plead. It's partially true. Lini has forgotten us, watching the One girl spiral around in an intricate dance with a spear and a trainer on the spear mat intently. Now, I don't know his intentions, but the silver haired man surely seems capable enough of being a pervert.

"Throw, and I'll give you some tips," the boy replies. "I'm Omri by the way."

"Fender," I huff before tossing several knives at the board. Three miss, while three of the other four hit the very outer ring. A lucky fourth one hits one of the inner rings.

"You have good natural aptitude," Omri notes. "Here, stand like this." He shifts his footing into the stance he used when he was throwing, and I copy it. He shows me how to hold the knife, how to pull back my arm and then how to throw. He's pretty generous and kind, doing this all. Within twenty minutes, most of my knives are hitting the target, and a quite a few of those are getting into some of the more inner rings of the target.

"Thanks so much," I mention as he and the girl, Ivy, are getting ready to move onto another station. Lini is still loopy; he hasn't come up to help me the entire time.

"Don't mention it," Omri grins. He opens his mouth to ask me something, and my heart swells. I can see it on his face. He likes me, and he wants to ally with me. But before he can say anything, Ivy tugs on his sleeve, and points to the edible plants station, which has just got two opened up spots. She dashes over, and Omri smiles sadly at me before following her.

The grin slips off of my face quickly, and I turn back to the target, throwing knife after knife after knife, watching them sink into the target. Damn that girl. I was so close into finding my way into that alliance. I guess it'll be all okay, though. The lone wolf remains the lone wolf. Alliances don't usually last long in the Games anyway. And, if I get lucky, maybe that Seven girl or one of Omri's other allies will die in the Bloodbath, and I can worm my way into their ranks or something. We'll just have to see. For now, I'm operating solo. I can deal with that.

* * *

 _I used to rule the world_

 _Seas would rise when I gave the word_

 _Now in the morning I sleep alone_

 _Sweep the streets I used to own_

 _I used to roll the dice_

 _Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes_

 _Listened as the crowd would sing_

 _Now the old king is dead long live the king_

 _One minute I held the key_

 _Next the walls were closed on me_

 _And I discovered that my castles stand_

 _Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand_

* * *

 ** _Calico D'Amboise, 14_**

 ** _District Eight Male_**

I remember the playground back home at my preparatory school as I survey the complex Training Center around me. I was one of the crown jewels of Clasp Prep's higher social circles, ruling my clique with an iron fist and an unforgiving heart. I ran the place like I owned it (which I did, in part; Grandma Tammi had two percent of the school's stock. Why a school had stock was beyond me, the economy is unusual in a rundown place like Eight). The other popular kids laughed with me and ate with me and gossiped with me, and they rarely joked about my lacking in several vital areas, such as, let's count! one, athleticism, two, attractiveness, three, weight, and four, intelligence. Then there were the lessers. Some basically bowed to me, just hoping to get into my clique, while others rebelled and tried to dismantle the indestructible pillars of social structure. Those riotous ones were the worst, they were the ones that called me Fatty and other vulgar names referring to who I was, the dumb assholes. And then there the simple outcasts, who sat on the sideline, too lowly to even interact with the lessers. They sulked and harumphed and did things like actually _read_ during their _free recess period._ Wow, did I think those kids were weird. I could never imagine being like them in a million years.

The social dynamics of Clasp Prep and the Training Center are in no way a simile, at least not for me. I've fallen from grace. I no longer am at the highest slot on the pecking order. Here, the Careers dominate all, laughing and grinning and fighting fiercely while the rest of us watch on, wetting our pants and gaping as they disembowel a mannequin in two swipes of an axe or impale a dummy's forehead cleanly with a spear from fifty feet away. They have fun and scare everyone else into submission and don't even need to really spend time here. Then there's the lessers. They're not the same as they are at school. They're the alliances, pretty much, kids "popular" enough in this Center to actually have some allies. I have terrible names for all of them. Fuckboy and His Newest Slut, then the Four Blind, Doomed Mice Who Couldn't Find A Fifth, as well as the Blowhards, the Asses Who Think Their Sarcasm Is Funny, and the Pompous Mouth Breathers. If you can guess which alliances are which, you get to be my ally! As you might be able to tell, I'm obviously desperate enough to ask an imaginary audience if they want to ally with me.

And then you have the outcasts. The people who sit alone at their stations, keeping their eyes to the ground and focusing on their work while the giggly lessers and hideously prideful populars stride around, owning the place. Yours truly has become akin to the boy with broken, smudged glasses, sitting on the jungle gym with a thick book about who-the-hell knows what. No one knows what it's about since, well, it's so damn _long._ But yeah. I'm alone. I can't really blame anyone. The only thing I have going for me is that I'll be getting a bunch of sponsors if I (miraculously) survive the Bloodbath due to my family's wealth. But I guess my outcast status is so offputting that no one wants to even entertain the possibility of allying with me, because no one has approached me about an alliance thus far, which I find utterly rude honestly. Even the most piteous group (The Four Blind, Doomed Mice Who Couldn't Find A Fifth) didn't bat their eyes at me. Why they can find a pregnant girl more appealing than myself in terms of allies is a mystery unto itself.

But I have to deal with it now. No one's going to come save me like I was banking on them doing. So I'm pretty much dead. Uriah flat out told me that I need to run straight away from the Bloodbath if I want to survive, and I know that he is right. But do I even want to try? That's the dilemma for me. Do I pick a quick death at the beginning of the Games, dying in the Bloodbath, or do I give myself the tiniest chance to survival? But through giving myself that most minuscule chance, I am damning myself to days of absolute starvation, dehydration, and loneliness, which has about a ninety nine point nine nine percent chance of ending in painful, bloody death. Is it better to just resign to my fate and let myself be cut down after the gong rings? Or do I get my act together and try and strive for the biggest miracle ever to happen in the Games: my improbable Victory?

Ick. All of this philosophical, deep thinking crap is grossing me out. Since when did I become a ponderer? Of course I'm going into the Bloodbath. I'd risk my life to get some food and water and comfort. No way that I'm sleeping on the lumpy ground without anything to keep me comfortable or my belly full. Eight boys do have lucky streaks, but I don't want to just be the dumb Eight boy who thinks, "Wow kids in my spot have a good track record! I'll just do some random shit and I'll win!" Trust me, there's been idiots like that before, and they're so thick that I want to kick them through the TV screen as they get slaughtered at the Bloodbath.

"Calico?" the trainer speaks up quietly. A short, wiry woman with electric blue hair and eyes and light blue skin, Cassiopeia is the camouflage instructor. She's working on a mural of sorts on the ground with a variety of naturally based paints and pastels. The girl from Eight, Gaia, part of the Blind Mice, is also at the station, painstakingly covering her arm in a coordinated, mottled mess of greens and browns that makes her arm look like a blurry reincarnation of a forest floor.

"Yeah?" I snap, turning to her. I knock over a pot of navy paint as I do so, and it splashes all over the bare cement floor. Cassiopeia gasps quietly and grabs a rag and a spray bottle to clean up the mess. Before she can clean it up, however, the hulking Four male sprints past, towards the trident station, grinning maliciously. He slips on the section of slick paint, and I can't say that I don't enjoy watching him pinwheel around for a moment before falling hard on his ass. He groans and staggers to his feet, locking his eyes with mine. He's seething, and I don't realize that I'm laughing until it's too late.

"You damn little pipsqueak-" the boy begins, lunging towards me. The diminutive Cassiopeia steps between us at the last moment, holding up her plastic spray bottle menacingly. Her thin arms shake as she shoos away the Career, her thin lips, coated in navy lacquer, pursed.

"It was an accident, I knocked it over," Cassiopeia mutters. "Move along."

The Career boy from Four grumbles angrily but stalks off, leaving a few dark blue footprints in his wake before the paint's rubbed off of the soles of his shoes. Cassiopeia breathes a sigh of relief before she gets on her knees and starts to scrub away the paint. I put down the pots of paint I've been using to paint a sloppy water-like pattern, and I tentatively stoop down to help the woman. That was pretty nice of her to do that, I guess.

"Need...help?" I inquire, my voice wavering.

"Yeah, there's another rag up there," the trainer replies. I hesitantly pick up the damp, mucky rag from where it sits on the metal cart that holds most of the supplies. The camouflage station is pretty cool. The cart and the painting area sits right outside of a pretty big multi-biome quadrant, where dozens of different environments are shown so one can compare their camouflage to real surroundings to see if it blends in well.

I'm so mesmerized in that moment that by the time I snap out of it, Cassiopeia is almost done cleaning up the mess. I gingerly lower myself onto the cool cement floor before swiping up about three square inches of the remaining paint. Cassiopeia smiles weakly at me, and she sighs as she stands and dusts off her stretchy black pants. I narrow my eyes at her; it was an accident. Is she seriously frustrated with me over an accident?!

I use the wet rag in my hands to rub away the murky swirls of blue and green and brown on my arm. It looks like total shit, and why am I even wasting my time trying to become a world class artist? This station is a total time whore. I stalk off without another word after the paint's off of my arm. Cassiopeia calls out my name, confused, but I ignore the snobby little bitch. Doesn't she know not to tick off a kid who's going to die within a week?!

I can feel the lump hardening in my throat. _No fucking way. I am not going to cry in front of these damn losers._ I splutter and try to hold back the tears that are leaping into my eyes. I'm just a dumb, ticked off kid who's going to die no matter what he does. I make a mad dash for the bathrooms on the other side of the Center. I'm panting heavily from my run (if you can call it that), and I'm also holding back sobs when I get there. I stumble into the boy's restroom and lock myself in a stall.

I sit on top of one of the smooth white toilets, the seat and lid down. I pull my knees to my chest, clutching my chicken legs close to my heart, and I release it all. The sobs come out slowly at first, quietly, fat tears rolling down my face in slow succession. Soon they're coming faster, and I'm hiccuping and then warbling incoherently. I start spasming, slamming my feet against the tile and then my fists against the door of the stall as the tears flow thick and fast. One punch slams into one of the hinges of the stall, and I yelp, wincing. I draw back my hand, falling still, my tears falling still. Blood trickles from the small gash in my knuckles.

I stagger out of the stall to see a confused looking Twelve boy standing at the urinal. He stuffs himself back in his pants and then runs to the sink, quickly washing his hands before dashing out. I bite my bottom lip, striding to the sink slowly. I bet he heard the entire thing will he took a piss. How lovely.

I turn on the water and I rinse out my cut, swearing profusely as the warm water washes away the blood. The translucent, pinkish water gets sucked down the drain, and soon no more blood is flowing from the little wound. I press some paper towels against the cut for a moment, and draw them back; just water. The blood flow seems to have stopped. I toss the wadded up bundle of paper towels in the direction of the trash can, but of course I miss terribly. I kick the garbage bin to the ground, ignoring the pain in my right foot as I stomp out of the bathroom. I've resolved one thing.

I'm going to die; I'm going to have to live with that for the few last days that I'll have to. And while I'm still kicking, I'm going to give everyone, and I mean _everyone,_ absolute _hell_ on Earth.

* * *

 _I'll never forget that feeling_

 _When I watched you disappear_

 _When you made me stop believing_

 _I could fight away the fear_

 _Now the smoke has cleared_

 _And the end is near_

 _It was my illusion_

 _Like a broken dream I was incomplete_

 _I feel like I am breathing again_

 _I feel like I am seeing again_

 _I got it under control oh oh_

* * *

 _ **Luke Saturn, 17**_

 _ **District Nine Male**_

The grimace on my face and the starkness in my eyes are intentional. I don't feel as emotionless or distant as I once did; that train ride, coupled with the glory of being one of the best dressed at the Tribute Parade, have reawakened something deep inside of me. I'm not leaping around in joy, high fiving everyone and chuckling obnoxiously, but my spirits have lifted somewhat. It's almost like my vision is sharpened or something; I'm more perceptive now, and I'm relishing more things around me. Colors, sounds, words, faces. They're not the sodden, unimportant blur that they were back in Ropin.

That doesn't mean I'm living a fairy tale, however, enamored with the oh-so-sweet world around me. I know I'm heading into a death match by the end of this week, and I'm already on alert. My strategy is to remain solo. I've always operated best alone, and not having to pull anyone else's weight or worry about betrayal, etc. will help me remain more focused on exploring the arena and figuring out how I'm going to handle the Games and the environment they're in this year. You get more food and water, and you fade more into the background because you don't have constant conversation going on that keeps the Capitol interested. And that's something I'm going for: fading somewhat into the background after the Games start. Blend in until the Top 8, and then bear my fangs and go in for the kills. If you go swinging hard from the start, you're going to strike out. You need to wait for the right pitch to come to you before you can hit a grand slam all the way back to the Victor's Village of District Nine.

So I'm assuming my natural grouchy aura, letting people feel at ease to not even consider me as an ally despite my array of skills, which is bigger than most of the other Outliers. My bored, snarky expression, my good posture, and intent focus on training are like poison; no one wants to even come near me. That's good, because without allies, there are no distractions for me in the Training Center. I can focus as much as I want on the task I'm practicing and not have to worry about useless chit chat or going to the stations that my allies demand we go to that I have no interest in.

Currently, I'm at the scythe station. In the Midlands, we usually use sickles in the fields where I work. They're cheaper and more efficient for the crops were usually harvest in that area of the country. I have handled a scythe before, however, so I'm sort of familiar with it. I spent a lot of time with sickles so far, and all I've really tried are sickles, edible insects, and weight lifting. Tomorrow I plan on touching on the water station and firemaking if I can, but for the last thirty minutes or however long we have left in this second training day, I'm going to keep utilizing the scythe.

The trainer is a talkative woman named Oraella. She has pearly whitish hair with an incandescent gleam, as well as pale skin dusted with white powder and stunning ruby red eyes, her pupils more indigo than black. Her arms are covered in shiny metallic tattoos of seashells, coral, bubbles, and dolphins, and she wears lots of silvery jewelry. She's rather pretty, I must admit, if rather gaudy and overdone. She has a slender figure and is about average height, and she actually knows how to wield a scythe well. I was expecting these Capitol bimbos to not have a clue of how to instruct weaponry since they do nothing but laze around, but I've learned that being a trainer is a coveted job here. Hundreds of Capitolites train their darnedest to try and become one. Only the best, like Oraella, get to teach.

"Let's go through the cycle again," Oraella tells me. We both get in our stances on opposite sides of the mat.

"One step," Oraella half sings as we both step one stride to our right. "Two step, three step, four step, five step." We revolve around the circle as she counts off the steps, one by one. When we reach ten, we're back at our starting places, and then Oraella throatily calls out, "LUNGE!"

We both step forward quickly, slashing before stepping back. Both of our swings miss, but hers almost scrapes my chin, while mine just misses her left knee. She smirks and I count along with her, doing the ten steps before dancing forward. We repeat the process over and over, at least a dozen times, until I get lucky. I dart forward, maneuvering my scythe towards her face. She leans back, and I slash down, smacking the blade of the scythe across her right thigh. She topples, falling right on her butt, and she huffs, dropping her scythe. I haul her back onto her feet, and she grins at me.

"Luke has learned," she giggles. "Want to go again?"'

"Sure," I murmur, resisting the urge to smile, as the Six boy is watching me with interest from the nearby throwing knives station. I narrow my eyes at Oraella, tightening my muscles, ready to pounce, as we prepare to start another exercise. A quick glance back at the Six boy, and he's not looking at me anymore. Good. His attention's moved on, which is good news; I don't have to deal with anyone shilling for allies for my last several minutes.

The next exercise is more complicated. There isn't a coherent shape of steps; Oraella calls out the first direction, then I call out the second, she calls the third, I call the fourth, and so on. We both have to adapt to whatever the other person says. Oraella usually makes us do some sort of complicated step or a twirl of our weapons, while I either just say "step right" or "LUNGE!" I enjoy this station, and half of the time I manage to outwit Oraella, sometimes getting the blade of my scythe to skid across her clothes or getting her to lose her balance and fall. The other half of the time, she's like a violent whirlwind, sending me sprawling and my head tilting with dizziness. After a particularly rough plunge to the sweaty mat, Oraella helps me to my feet.

"Keep using your scythe and sickle like that, and you're golden," Oraella grins. She leans in close to whisper something in my ear. I almost jerk away out of reflex, but I listen, trying to force myself to not flinch away like I want to. "I'd put my money on Nine getting their first male Victor this year." She draws back, smiling a little, and I flash her the tiniest of grins before suggesting that we try one more exercise.

"Nope," Oraella says, pointing to the clock mounted on the wall above the exit doors to the elevator. After lunch, there was five hours on the digital clock; now there's only a minute and a half. "Here's a towel; wipe away that sweat that's all over your face. I'll take your scythe. It's time for you guys to go."

By the time I'm done drying off my face and I've helped Oraella clean up most of her station, the chimes, ending with the unwieldy clang of a church bell gone rogue, tinkle through the Training Center. Head Trainer Tautulus Cragmyre strides over to the very center of the Training Center, which is one of the only spaces in the room that is clear of trainers, tributes, and stations. Just like yesterday, in his booming voice, he informs us that training is over for today. However, he adds something new. "Tomorrow, you will only have until lunch to train due to Private Sessions happening after the first part of training. Therefore, you will only have five hours tomorrow, as opposed to the customary ten. Have a good evening, tributes."

Trainers start to clean up their stations, and tributes flock to the elevator. I find myself walking alone until Sage sidles up to me. She's gotten herself a pretty weak alliance, but an alliance nonetheless. Two of the girls didn't even come today, that's how hopeless they are, and the only other one of any worth, the Eight girl, is already gone, in the elevator, so she comes to me. Sage isn't half bad at all, but I'd rather not talk to her.

"How's it going?" she murmurs as we near the elevator. We fall into line, waiting to get on, before I even think to answer. Once we're boarding the elevator, I finally open my mouth.

"Pretty good," is my only reply. Sage nods slowly and then starts to talk to the girl from Eleven, who is also on this elevator trip along with her ally, the Twelve boy, as well as the short female Career from Four. No one speaks besides Sage and Eleven, and the Career walks off when we reach her floor, not saying a word or looking at us. She doesn't seem very menacing at all, at least for a Career. Soon enough we reach our floor. I stalk off the moment the doors open, while Sage and the Eleven girl part after some useless goodbye chatter. At least she's making friends; maybe they'll help her get through the Bloodbath.

"Training?" Unity inquires from the dining room table when I walk past. She and Patrisa are talking about something, and they have a holographic screen filled with numbers and Capitolite sounding names on them floating in front of their faces. Something to do with sponsorship, probably.

"Good," I mumble in reply. I snag a few slices of raisin bread from the table before walking out onto the terrace to eat in peace. I slide open the huge glass doors and close them slowly as I hear the scrape of Sage pulling back a chair at the dining table. I watch her talk animatedly to Patrisa and Unity, and I just shake my head as I lean back in one of the reclining pool chairs out on the balcony. I snack on the raisin bread as I watch the sun set. It paints the glittering skyline of the Capitol in dozens of mesmerizing colors, and as it falls dark, thousands of glowing neon lights in varieties of shapes, sizes, and colors burst to life. Even at night, the Capitol is fully alive, like a never sleeping beast. Despite the horrendous light pollution, when I tilt my head back to the sky, I can still see hundreds of stars painting the night sky's hollow black canvas. I marvel at the world around me as I eat my raisin bread, filling my stomach. If only my parents could see me here now. I have a feeling that they'd be so proud. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and I lay there, crying quietly for the first time in ages as I remember my parents. I let the tears come, and even though I don't feel especially sad, my body is weeping like I've just lost everything I've ever known and loved in life. I'm finally learning to let go, and to feel everything as it comes my way, and it's frightening.

The doors slide open, and I quickly force myself to stop crying. I wipe away the tears with a pillow before Unity can see them, and thankfully it's too dark for her to see my tear soaked face and my bloodshot eyes. Unity smiles at me, and I can barely make out her dark skinned face in the night. Only the glow of nearby building signs and the pulse of the lights from the clubs illuminate us feebly.

"Define good for me," Unity says, crossing her arms, pulling her chair close to mine.

" _Really_ good," I answer shortly, and I muster a thin, quavering smile onto my face. Unity beams.

"Good," she chuckles, and I can't think of anything else to say.

* * *

 **A/N: Yay! We're already done with the Second Day of Training! We still have quite a ways to go before we hit the Games, but we've made some progress, and we've really gotten to explore all of these characters well so far. I hope you've enjoyed what you've seen of these tributes so far. They were all a blast to write like all of these tributes are! :D**

 **Who was your favorite of these three? Who was your least favorite? If you had to guess, who would you think will be in the Top 8? (This is just for my curiosity to be sated XD)**

 **Please review, and thanks to all of you for sticking with this! :D**

 **Trivia:**

 **Fender (1 pt.): What is the throwing knife trainer's name? (Nickname is good)**

 **Calico (1 pt.): Who slips on Calico's spilled paint?**

 **Luke (1 pt.): How many steps do Oraella and Luke take in the first exercise?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	47. The Third Night

**A/N: The third night is here for your enjoyment! Today we have no tributes: just Mentor Anneliese Petrova from District 5, and, drum roll please...DUN DUN DUN ITS AN...EXCITED YOUNG ADULT CORIOLANUS SNOW! Aww man I hope you're as excited as I am haha XD I hope you enjoy this read and this little break from reading about tributes. We'll be back to your babies soon I promise :D**

 **Trigger Warnings: Profanity and sexual references**

* * *

 _I feel you in my bones_

 _Do you think of me in your skull?_

 _All of the dust and dirt in the ground at some point_

 _Was somebody who thought they felt you in their bones_

 _They thought that they were in love_

 _Thought that they were in love_

 _Do you feel electric in your hands and legs?_

 _I sense the gravity shifting inside our heads_

 _All the thoughts go up, never settle down_

 _In these chaos caves_

 _No relief to be found_

* * *

 ** _Anneliese Petrova, 28_**

 ** _District Five Mentor and Victor of the Twelfth Annual Hunger Games_**

My quilts are all wrapped up neatly in the large beige trunk I keep them in when I travel. I only brought three with me; the Twenty Second, the Eighteenth, and of course, my own, the Twelfth. Next to that is a small bag with the half finished blanket inside, more just a few sloppy scraps of fabric that Bernie and I have been doing since the train ride to keep her calm and centered. Tucked beside the little bag is a glossy dark red case that holds my knitting needles. Beside that are two grainy black suitcases, packed with clothes and books and other knick-knacks. I always overpack for some reason; I like the security of having more of something than I need. And, as always, I also have a full water bottle down there, too. The desert never leaves you. All of this is scrunched under my springy Capitol bed, lined up in a neat, precise row. I crouch on the floor, fiddling with the zipper of one of the suitcases, dreading what I'm going to have to do in a moment. Really, I should've done it ages ago, but I haven't been able to bring myself to. I'm an introverted and shy person. I don't deal well with criticism or giving it. And I am worthless in a verbal assault or debate. I just curl up and die as the other person screeches their view in my face. Therefore, I'm usually complacent and a pushover, even though I wish I wasn't one. It's just not something I can easily control. My therapist thinks it traces back to the broken marriage my parents had, constantly yelling and fighting. I guess that might make sense. I hid under the bed whenever they fought, and right now I'm doing about the same thing.

I take a deep breath before standing and marching out as confidently as possible into the kitchen. Ambrosia is conked out in front of the TV, a soap opera playing soundlessly, as Jayce has muted it. He sits, cross legged, on the sofa as well, playing with a hologame. He toggles around the blocks and watches with satisfaction as he clears a path for the holographic man to stride down to the finish of the puzzle's round. And then there is the target of my efforts, Bernie. She's sitting at the kitchen table, painting her nails in a variety of colors from a case of small glass nail polish bottles that Speciallo has lent her for her time here in the Capitol. I watch her trying to keep her hands from shaking as she paints the top half of one of her nails in a glossy orange color. Once she's lacquered up that area, she pulls out a little bottle of lime green and turns to another fingernail where the polish has dried. She puts lime green polka dots on the darker green paint that covers the finger, and I'm mesmerized by her flashy fingers for a little too long. Before I can start the conversation like I planned, Bernie feels my eyes on her. She flips around in her chair, straddling it with her legs as she looks up at me with a beaming smile. She blows on her drying nails and says, "Hey, Liese."

And I'm lost now. Yeah, I let her start calling me by the nickname my father gave me after we actually became close soon after my Victory, after my mom ran off with a tavern owner to live on the other side of the District and refused to talk to me. Her shining eyes, endearing and too innocent, lock with mine, and for a long moment I can't even think to say anything, confused and already messing up, as usual.

"Cucumbers," I jabber randomly after a moment of stumbling over words.

"What?" Bernie inquires, leaning back against the table and letting her bare feet slide out across the cool tile towards me.

"Ithinkthatyouneedtogetagripandgototrainingandleavebehindthosealliesofyoursbecausethey'llbeyourdownfallifyouarenotcarefulallianceslikethatneverworkandthatisnottherightangleforagirlofyourcaliberyouknowIamspeaking-"

"Liese, come on, slow down," Bernie huffs, folding her arms across her small chest. "I have no clue what you're saying."

It takes a long time for me to say the words I want, and they're deliberate and probably a little too rough. "I don't like what you're doing. You need to train, and you don't need to spend time frolicking around with the pregnant girl and your other friends. The only way you're going to win this is if you stay solo and hide it out. You can't handle an alliance; you're all just going to make yourselves bigger targets. And do you want to have to care for a pregnant woman and two other weaklings?" I snap suddenly, placing emphasis on the words that I want her to remember, like _train_ and _frolicking._ By the time the last word is out of my mouth, I have no idea how I could ever have spoken so harshly and venomously, but I have, and the effects are apparent. Bernie is staring at me, open mouthed and appalled.

"Are you insinuating that I'm weak? And are you trying to control my life?!" Bernie growls, and I know I've opened a can of worms that can't be sealed shut again. I sigh, pulling out the chair next to hear. I sit down and look at her sadly, keeping my tone even, kind, and genuine.

"Bernie, I'm looking out for you. You're twelve, and if you don't go to training, and play around instead of learning valuable skills, you're not going to have a chance. You need to learn how to survive off of the land and wield a weapon, even if it's just rudimentary knowledge."

"But I spent a day there. I learned a little about edible plants and I can use a dagger pretty well, Liese."

"One day isn't enough, Bernie! I'm not trying to be mean, but this is your _life,_ girl. Buck up and accept that. This isn't just a game, no matter if it is called the Hunger Games or not. You need to get a grip on reality, and realize this isn't just a social event. It isn't about who can be the nicest and allies with the pregnant girl and skips around with her. This is survival, clear cut and cold and fricking real, and if you don't want to face that, then you don't have a chance."

"You don't think I don't realize that I'm in the prelude to a fucking death match?!" Bernie shouts back, frothing. She stands, putting her hands on her hips. Jayce has dozed off along with Ambrosia, and their soft snores drift from the living room. Thank Snow they're not awake for this. I don't need their meddling.

"I know you realize, but girls your age sometimes-" I begin.

"I'm not a stupid little 12 year old who thinks this is all a prank, Anneliese! I'm different! Don't you think that maybe I realize I don't have much of a chance, and that maybe I'm enjoying myself in my last days instead of wallowing in self pity and practicing skills in a stuffy room that I won't need to use anyway?!" Bernie screams, her little face burning with color from her anger and fervor. Tears pool in her eyes. "Leave me alone. You obviously don't believe in me enough to trust my decisions." She turns on her heel and storms off towards her room, trying to stifle her tears. I can hear the beginnings of sobs, however.

"Bernie, I am just trying my darnedest to get you back-" I begin to holler after her, but she opens her door and slams it behind her, locking it behind her with a series of sharp clicks. I run up to the door and begin to pound on it. I can hear muffled crying on the other side.

"Bernie, honey, please, I was just trying to help!" I whimper, knocking louder. "Come on, you know that I care about you. This is hard for me too."

The door clicks open, and I think I've gotten through to her. However, I know she's just come to offer a rebuttal when I see her tear soaked face screwed up in an ugly scowl. "This is hard for you, too? You bitch. You survived. All you have to do is pretend to like me while you wait for me to die." She slams the door again, and now I'm crying.

"Oh Bernie, that isn't true, don't say things like that!" I screech. She doesn't answer, and I slide to the floor, curling up in a fetal position as I start to weep. I suck at this job. I suck so terribly. I can't even give advice without boring or angering my tributes. Despite my best efforts, they don't like me. I get attached, and they don't even care about me. The story of my life. Me, giving out my love, while the other party isn't interested in the slightest.

I look up to see Jayce watching from the couch with one eye squinted and half open. Once we meet eyes, he closes his eyes once more and pretends to be asleep again, hoping I won't notice that he's seen me. I hiss and wipe the tears from my face, storming into my own room and falling onto my bed after closing the door, trying to stifle the tears. Great. Now my other tribute thinks I'm a crybaby. I just bury myself under the covers and hope that sleep will take me soon. I hate Mentoring so much.

* * *

 _I can speak your language_

 _But I'm trying to understand_

 _Just what you're trying to say_

 _I'm not trying to change you, no_

 _I like the way you sing this song_

 _Dancing in the temples where you came from_

 _Make a sacrifice until the rain comes_

 _You know that I've been patient so long_

 _Girl I need your blessing you're my day one_

 _So Imma sing a prayer for that body right now_

* * *

 ** _Coriolanus Snow, 22_**

 ** _Son of President Gaius Snow and Junior Adviser to the President_**

Being the son of the President has some select advantages. You grow up in one of the most luxurious buildings in the entire nation, the hallowed Presidential Palace. You're famous from the moment of your birth, and you have an almost guaranteed spot high up in the government or anywhere else in the future. You're rich as hell and get almost anything you want. And you get the best education in Panem. But above all, you get to meet all of the most exotic and enthralling women. Politicians, Victors, artists, Peacekeepers, models, actresses, you name it, I've had a dinner party with them. My first kiss was with the renowned childhood actress Ghorea Chamblie. I managed to partially seduce a drunk Waverley Tux enough to get her to make out with me, and I've had my fair share of alone time with famous women from all walks of stardom.

Tonight is no different. Every night during the PreGames week, a ball is hosted at the Presidential Palace. The guest list is selective, and only the brightest, richest, and most beautiful are allowed through the wrought iron gates that bar entrance into the property. I look at the swirls of people around me from the bar as the bartender expertly mixes my Manhattan the exact way I like it. I spot several prominent Games figure. Ludum, sans his newly ex-wife Amonia of course, sways on the dance floor with his best friends and coworkers, Odore and Vecily. Fabula talks animatedly with Brick Talladega, possibly Two's most vicious Victor of all time. A good deal of other Career Mentors are here, along with a beaming Oakes and a drowsy Woof. Half of the sponsors are here, already drumming up funds. Edna even had the crass to bring her holographic checking account, and it floats next to her head as she waltzes through the crowd.

My eyes settle on a girl, a very exquisite specimen. She's dressed in a stark white dress with silvery accents carving across it. They accentuate her heavenly features. Her skin is smooth and as pale as freshly fallen snow, one of my favorite things in the world. I stare at her long enough that she must feel my eyes on the back of her head, because she turns and meets my eyes. I keep myself from gasping as she bats her silvery eyelashes at me.

"Mr. Snow?" the bartender peeps up. I turn to the man. He's broken my reverie and my longing staring contest with the beautiful young woman across the ballroom. But Amadeus is a mad mixologist, and he's never wronged me before. I decide not to scold him.

"Yes, Amadeus?" I reply, folding my arms across my chest. My pristine white suit is purposefully tight across that muscled area of my body.

"Your Manhattan is ready. And I made another one for that pretty woman you're eyeing up. She just finished her own drink." I happen to see that Amadeus is right; her own glass is nearly empty, with just the dregs of the drink at the bottom. It was a Manhattan, that can be sure however. Sometimes Amadeus is a wonder. He's helped me score more than once. I wonder if there's a way to promote a bartender. Unlikely.

"Thank you, Amadeus," I chuckle with a sly grin, picking up both drinks, one in each hand.

"I happen to know Ambassa; she's my goddaughter," Amadeus calls after me as I start to walk away. "Don't go too hard on her, Mr. Snow."

"I'm sorry that I won't be able to follow your wishes, Amadeus Colusi," I laugh to myself as I delve through the crowds. They part around me once I step forward. No one tries to stop me like they usually would. I'm obviously on a mission, and everyone who has half a brain knows to never stop a Snow when they're on a mission. I march perfectly across the ballroom, keeping the Manhattans level in my hands as I approach the beauty known as Ambassa.

"My lady," I say lavishly, my words dripping with a thousand others and pure sexuality. She whirls, her hair, dyed silvery white tonight, framing her pretty face. It's too perfect; she's obviously been surgically altered. However, most of her seems to be in its natural state besides her wickedly gorgeous face, and that gets me extremely excited. Natural beauties are my favorites. "I see that your drink ran out."

"I am a rather thirsty woman. Thank you, Mr. Snow," Ambassa purrs, graciously accepting the drink from my hands and batting her silvery eyelashes at me. My heart skips a beat, and it takes me a moment to recover. Well someone's receiving my passes! It's been a long week, and I could use some time to unwind for sure...in only a few words, the sexual tension between us has risen to delectable levels. She lifts the glass to her plump, luscious lips and drinks slowly, keeping her fantastic eyes locked with mine as she sips. Each of her movements is drawn out and slow; she's pulling me in quickly, and she knows how to work a man. She knows how impatient we get.

She hands off her half finished Manhattan to a nearby friend who is trying to grind on the minister of education. Then she steps close to me. Close. Very close. Barely a half a stride between us, and her engaging eyes daunt me, daring me to step forward and meet those oh so enthralling lips. I just can't resist, I don't care what the repercussions are, I just need-

Someone steps in between us as I lean forward to meet Ambassa's pursed lips. I stumble backwards, falling onto my rump. The breath's knocked out of me, and as the person who's sent me askew gasps and helps me to her feet, I sigh internally. Know-it-all cousin Marionette Brocklinde cock blocks once again.

"Hey, Ambassa honey!" Marionette laughs, motioning towards her friend with her empty martini glass. Ambassa smiles weakly, still trying to get a good look at me, but Marionette blocks her, turning to me and glaring venomously. Of course. I can already hear the spite.

"Leave my friend alone. I don't need you running over her heart and using her body just to dispose of it," Marionette hisses.

"Well maybe it's too late," I suggest. Marionette turns red and turns to her friend, furious.

"You had sex with Coriolanus Snow?! I didn't peg you for such a whore, Amby!" Marionette spits. "I never thought such a beautiful girl as yourself would let yourself be exploited to such great lengths by such a sexually active and scoundrel like man!"

"I was just playing," Ambassa replies, crossing her arms. "Just flirting, Marionette. Didn't intend to ever unzip my dress for him. Why, did he say something?"

"He claims you boned!" Marionette gasps wildly, throwing her arms up in the air in her flurry of emotions.

"No way," Ambassa grunts. "Bye, Mr. Snow. No chance now. I'm already thinking about other guys, anyway. Never was interested. No siree." Ambassa prances off without another word, and I just stare, slackjawed, at a guffawing Marionette.

"You bitch," I whisper.

"It's my specialty," she cackles.

"Now I'll have to fuck Gargantua Morisette," I groan. The inhumanity.

"Good luck with that conquest."

"Should be easy."

"Should be taxing."

"Fuck off, Marionette."

"I'd rather wait till marriage, you promiscuous-"

I don't let her finish. I "accidentally" fall as I walk away, pouring my Manhattan all over her new dress, a birthday gift from Mom and Dad. It's expensive, genuine Grecia Mathilde and worth more than her jewelry box. She stares at me, open mouthed and furious, and I scamper off before she can say anything, grinning. I might have to screw with Gargantua tonight, always my last ditch when the night's coming to a close, but it's better than some nights. This battle's been won against Marionette Brocklinde. I can't wait to see her next move.

* * *

 **A/N: This took forever! I'm so sorry! Track's just been time consuming, as well as all the activities I'm in with school. I haven't had much time to sit down and write, and the time I do have I've been pouring into 500YOP since I'm still on my obsession with that story. I'm going to be gone the next three days without wifi on a class trip to Washington D.C., so I wanted to get this out tonight :D School is coming to a close soon, however, and track will be over by the end of next week. Soon I'll be back on schedule with chapters I hope.**

 **Did you like Anneliese and Snow? What didn't you like? Did you enjoy how I wove Snow, Ambassa, and Marionette into one piece? Other comments?**

 **I'd love to see what y'all have to say, and know I should be back on track when I can be! :D**

 **Trivia:**

 **Anneliese (1 pt.) - What is Anneliese's nickname?**

 **Snow (1 pt.) - What drink does Snow get for himself and Ambassa?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	48. The Third Morning

**A/N: This is coming out quite a bit faster than I've been getting them out because it is the weekend, and spending 3 days in DC without time or tools to write filled me up so much with creative energy that I just got right to writing as soon as I could! XD Today we have two Mentors to visit as the tributes prepare for the last day of training. We're visiting Esquiria Pasquale of District 1, as well as Takami Wired of District 3. Enjoy your reading everybody, and I hope it's a good one! :D**

 **Trigger warnings: Profanity and a very undescriptive sexual situation**

* * *

 _And there's no remedy_

 _For memory_

 _Your face is like a melody,_

 _It won't leave my head_

 _Your soul is haunting me_

 _And telling me_

 _That everything is fine_

 _But I wish I was dead_

 _(dead like you)_

 _Every time I close my eyes_

 _It's like a dark paradise_

* * *

 ** _Takami Wired, 22_**

 ** _District Three Mentor and Victor of the Sixteenth Hunger Games_**

I think it's a dream at first. I wake up to find that Emma isn't wrapped snugly within the grasp of my skinny arms. A soft, honeyed glow cascades across our bed, and I shift, burying my face in the pillow and splaying out my limbs. My hands and feet squirm around, feeling about for my little lover. When, face down, I've explored the entirety of the mattress and the covers and have found no sign of her thin form, I sit up, looking around groggily.

"Emma?" I mutter huskily, my raspy voice a byproduct of sleeping with my mouth open. No answer.

I slip out from under the covers, looking around sleepily for the source of the fuzzy glow that has consumed most of the area of the room. After stumbling around for a minute, I find it. The large flat screen TV that sits on the dresser now sits on the carpeted floor, a tangle of wires trailing behind it and connecting it to the power socket in the wall behind the chest of drawers. Emma is squatting on the floor, propped up against a mound of puffy pillows and covered by a thick lavender comforter she must've rooted out of the closet. Her eyes are half closed and she's in a trance like state.

I crawl to her side and stoop over her, pawing at her exposed left wrist. A pulse drums adamantly underneath the pressure of my fingers, and I breathe a sigh of relief. She starts to perk up once she feels my warm hands across the cooler skin of her wrist, and her eyes slide open. I caress her hair, and I lean over and press a tiny kiss on the right corner of her mouth. She sighs and smiles, tugging me weakly down onto her chest. I can see the shiny trails of dried tears on her bony cheeks, and I wrap myself around her, nuzzling my head between her shoulder and her neck in the exact place she likes it.

"Whatcha watching?" I rasp, lifting my mouth from her skin as I speak.

She doesn't answer, and I draw my head back enough for me to be able to turn and see what is on the television screen. She weakly lunges for the remote, but she's too tired and defeated already, and my eyes are on the TV before her hands can hit the power button. She sets down the remote once I've seen.

"I was missing her," she mumbles, refusing to look at me. "I just wanted to watch the parade, to see you two grinning on the chariot in those sparkling costumes. I wanted a good memory. But I couldn't stop it. I saw the bad score, the terrible interview, and then...and then...I just started watching the Games. I muted it so the screams wouldn't wake you up. Just...just as the arrow lodged...I paused it and couldn't look away..."

"Oh fuck, Emma," I whimper, pulling her close. "Oh honey, it'll all be fine. Let's just go back to bed and turn this off." I can't bear to look at it any longer. She needs to go to sleep and I need to turn off this television screen. I have never rewatched my Games, despite having reviewed all of the other Games a couple of times to remember the charges I failed, and those that came before me, so that I can connect better with their families. But I never needed a refresher to remember myself or Elodie, my little ally. I never needed to watch us sprinting away from the Bloodbath, the boys and girls falling to my improvised traps and weapons, and the One boy shooting her dead only days from the end with his curving, springy bow. On the screen is a frozen vision of Elodie, the arrow skewered up to the fletching through one temple, the tip poking out the other. Her face, still forever, is nearly emotionless beside the grimace of fear; the pain and the death came quick at least, so quick she didn't even notice until she was cold and face first in the mud with only a second left before her cannon fired.

"Takami, I'm sorry," Emma grunts, worming her ways into my arms. I slam my fist into the remote, shutting off the TV and probably screwing something else up. Plastic cracks under my forceful blow, and a few keys become jammed or broken. Emma looks into my eyes fearfully, and I lift her up in my arms, carrying her back to the bed. I set her down and I look down at her, licking my lips. I need a distraction from all of this; we both do.

I trace the tendons of her neck with my tongue, and she shivers beneath me, her shaking hands twisting themselves in the loose hem of my cotton bed shirt. She works it off of me as I kiss down the rest of her body, undoing her clothes. Everything else except Emma Sprocket leaves my head, and she's as beautiful as ever, her starkly naked body bony and skinny still, but glorious. Her cute face is framed by her limp black hair, and she's swathed in the silky sheets, her almost black eyes meeting mine in the near absolute darkness. I can no longer resist the tug, and I pull the covers over us as I take control.

By the time it's over, the morning sun is streaming through the translucent blinds, and we're both tired out beyond belief. I cup her small face in my hands, grazing her sweet lips with mine one last time before hobbling out of bed and across the room to the dresser. She groans in protest, pulling the blankets around her still bare form. I have to get ready for the day, however. Today's the last day of training, Private Sessions, and Scores all wrapped into one. I pull on a pair of grey boxer briefs and then some khakis and a navy V neck. Emma slips out of bed, shooting me a flirty look as she stumbles off into the bathroom to take a shower. I grin a little and rummage through the dresser for the other things I'll need for my outfit. As I pull on some socks, I hear pounding on the door.

"TAKAMI!" Luizy's tinny voices squeals. "Get going, get going! You didn't change your alarm, did you?! Remember training starts an hour earlier today, you imbecile! The kids are ready to go and we still need to review what they're doing at their sessions!"

I burst out of the room despite not being fully put together. Fuji and Millard are both waiting by the elevator. I grab a mango and bite into it, gulping down the food into my grumbling stomach before turning to my tributes. I wipe away the sticky fluid running down my face as I speed talk.

"Remember what I told you, do whatever you're strongest at and don't give them anything to critique, cause hell, does Ludum like to critique. Do your best and give them hell. It doesn't matter what you get; Uriah won with a 3. Annelise, Esquiria, and Pumpkin won with a 5. Lots of others won with 6s or 7s. Anything in that range and you have a great shot. Go get 'em, guys. Give it your all, and that's all that really matters today."

They both nod and smile, and they begin to chat as they wait for the elevator to arrive and pick them up. As I stride away, relieved, Luizy speaks up.

"Were you okay last night, Takami?" Luizy squeaks, her hands on her hips. "I heard all types of moaning and groaning. The kids had to turn up their movie so loud that I could barely fall asleep!"

Fuji and Millard are snickering wildly, both obviously knowing the origin of the sounds that I created in my bedroom with Emma. My cheeks burn brightly, and I'm indignant. Before I can say a word, however, the elevator's arrived, and my charges quickly step on. The doors snap shut, and I turn to Luizy, exasperated.

"I asked you a question, Takami!" Luizy yelps. "I was seriously worried for your safety. I almost went in there, I was so frightened!"

I just shake my head, stifling laughter. This isn't even a joke like I thought it was. Sometimes I forget how sheltered and idiotic Capitolites can be. I tell her that I'm fine and to leave me be when she hears "sounds" from my room. She looks relieved and nods dutifully before taking some sponsorship forms out to the balcony to work on. Once she's gone, I break down into giggles. I run back into my room and collapse on the bed, waiting for Emma to get out of the shower. I can't wait to tell her all about the insanity of this place.

* * *

 _I want money, power and glory_

 _I want money and all your power, all your glory_

 _Hallelujah, I wanna take you for all that you got_

 _Hallelujah, I'm gonna take them for all that they got_

 _The sun also rises,_

 _On those who fail the call_

 _My life, it comprises,_

 _Of losses and wins and fails and falls_

* * *

 ** _Esquiria Pasquale, 32_**

 ** _District One Mentor and Victor of the Fifth Hunger Games_**

"They requested that you get the blonde hair back, darling. There's nothing I can do," Junova sighs as she pins up my hair. Rich and glossy and above all, dark brown, it's gorgeous and natural and I like to keep it this way. Last year they let me keep it without problems, so I decided to try my luck again. Junova received an unsigned letter on Presidential Palace stationery requesting that she revert my chocolate curls to a blonde waterfall. I know who the notice is from; Snow never wants to let any of us get comfortable or have full expression of ourselves, even if you are the founder of District One's Academy.

I am the root of the trend I so thoroughly hate. I was playing around with my younger sister Signora a couple of weeks before my Reaping. I slathered lipstick all over her mouth, and then she accidentally spilled a whole canister of blonde hair dye across my head as she was putting it away before our mother caught us. It would not wash out, and I went to the Reaping with dark brown hair splotched with shimmering blonde. My stylist couldn't get the dye out well either, and he just dipped all my hair in blonde dye and left it at that. I was the first buxom blonde to strut the screens of Panem, to coast to the end with blood flying all about me. Even though I got out the hair dye the moment I could after the Games, the image of the latina girl with blonde hair stuck. Girls all across the District copied my style, and all the blonde girls became popular and coveted. Most of the women in our District are blonde now, even if half of them wear wigs or dye. The last volunteer I had that wasn't blonde was all the way back in the Twelfth Games, and she died too early under the blazing sun before anything could be done to help her. I spurred the creation of the monster I hate, the legions of bottle blondes with itty bitty waists and too loose legs, just because of a simple mistake from when I was 15 years old. It goes to show how important the little things tend to be, and also why I tend to hate them dyeing my hair with a hellish passion.

The Capitol wants to see the woman who started the trend, who brought District One onto its pedestal and established it as a powerhouse. They recognize me best with my false, glossy blonde hair. Wigs don't fit well over my curly mane, and it's easier just to dye it, anyway. Wigs are itchy and always come off at the worst times. I can't rebel against this order as much as I can't take back the birth of the One stereotype.

I sit down in the chair that Junova has brought into my expansive Capitolite bathroom. Adjoining with my luxurious bedroom, it has two granite vanities, a huge shower, a toilet, and a deep clawfoot soaking tub. A chair's set up in front of the vanity where I sit, and Junova stands behind me, prepping my hair for the ordeal. One of the prep teamers, one of Zircon's if I'm not mistaken, is finishing setting up the twirling stand that holds all of the makeup and accessories and tools needed to dress me up. For today, I am going to have an interview with Fabula as a teaser of sorts before the scores are released. Brick, Oisin, and Paula are having ones too. They need to see me all dolled up, looking like the girl who won the Fifth Hunger Games again. I'll have to give them what they want. There's no way around it.

I won't back away from it. I'm brazen, as usual. I stare into the mirror, right into my own dark brown eyes. They look emotionless; the only thing I can scrounge from them is mild antipathy, barely perceptible. And that's always there. I look as normal as always as Junova and her helper recline the chair, fanning out my gorgeous brown locks and squirting out the dye. I can't look at the mirror anymore, so I stare at the smooth, blemish-less ceiling as they quickly do their work. Within five minutes, I'm sitting up again, a blonde once more. The helper's already pulling out swatches of concealer and eye shadow while Junova precisely orders and Avox to grab the three dresses she thinks will work best with this new hairdo from her basement designing studio. They work as if nothing is wrong, and I just sit there, staring at my eyes, averting them from looking at the tresses of golden blonde. They've even smoothed them out, and I look alien. I sigh a little, a barely audible hiss of air, and I try not to bite my lip as Junova expertly slips a stick of pale pink lipstick across it.

By the time they're done, it's well into breakfast time. My interview's in under two hours, and our tributes are going to be departing for their last day of training within the hour. I thank the two beautiful women who've prepped me curtly. They take my words rightly as a dismissal, and they both march out. I look at myself in the mirror for a moment. Waterfalls of straight golden hair drip across my tan face and down my exposed shoulders, the ends strategically splayed across the chest of my crisp maroon cocktail dress. My face is all done up, and I even have jewelry and my heels on. I nod at my reflection before clacking out of the bathroom, across my bedroom, and into the dining room.

Kenyan is plowing through a plate packed with carbs and proteins, and Zircon heartily gobbles down sausages, scrambled eggs, hash, and sliced fruit. Iono picks delicately at his plate, filled with a block of chalky tofu and a peeled orange. Someone's trying to diet again. And then there's my charge, Trinity, looking as beautiful and prissy as ever. She's already mostly cleaned her plate, which from what I can tell held toast, eggs, and bacon. She has a cup of milk in her hands, and when she spots me she immediately stiffens and smiles. I turn away from her, shaking my head as I spear a triangle of watermelon with a fork. I bite into it, making sure none of the juice dribbles out of my mouth, where it could destroy the makeup that the girls have slaved over.

After eating a small breakfast, I stand to go do some sponsorship paperwork in my room for the hour until I have to depart. Zircon's already lacing up his shoes to go, but Trinity isn't ready yet. She hangs nearby me, and I can see a questioning look on her face. After she hovers for over five minutes, watching me collect sponsorship forms from where they've been scattered across the dining and living rooms, I finally break.

"Shouldn't you be going to training, Asparagus Teeth?" I inquire sharply, turning to her.

"I wanted to talk to you," she replies smoothly, not a hint of emotion in her voice.

"Make it quick. I have an interview with Fabula," I hiss as I shuffle the sponsorship forms. I saunter across the apartment towards my room, and Trinity strides along beside me, her legs longer than mine. She towers over me by a good half foot, and I want to strangle her as she looks down on me.

"I-it's just...I want to strategize with you," Trinity says calmly. "Zircon and Kenyan talk for hours, and the only words I can get out of you are insults."

"We don't need to talk," I return curtly, setting the gathered forms down on the dining room table besides an exasperated looking Iono. "You learned everything you need to know and more during your years at the Academy, Miss Vegas. All the boys do is time wasting."

"But we need to talk about my competitors," Trinity grunts. "About sponsors, about what I should be showing at training today, about specifics-"

"You're smart despite your looks, I hope. You can figure it out. Now excuse me, Miss Vegas, but-"

"Why the hell do you hate me?" she asks in a murmur of a voice, staring intensely at me. I'm dumbfounded; my tributes rarely have the tenacity to look the Deviless in the eyes, not to mention boldly proclaim such words. "Did I do something to you? Did my great grandmother kill your grandfather? Do you have some secret vendetta against my family? Give me a reason, even if it's utter bullshit, why you refuse to even talk to me like I'm a real human being. I just want help, Esquiria. I just want some help."

I just look at her, not speaking, for a long time. She's seething, and she takes deep, gulping breaths, trying to get herself back under control. Her question resounds through me, and I can't think of a correct way to answer. I cannot just walk away. I cannot give her a noncommittal answer. I cannot tell her the truth. I cannot lie to her. So I just stare. I just stare, so long and so hard that she just has, has, _has_ to walk away.

"Tell me," she demands weakly.

"You remind me of my mistakes. You remind me of the death of what our District once was, before I stepped onto that Games stage," I mutter, looking down in fake interest at my bare toes. They squirm in anxiety against their bonds in my stilettos.

"Does it have to do with the reason you're suddenly blonde?" Trinity replies, her voice suddenly softer and kinder.

"Yeah. Yeah, it sorta does."

* * *

 **A/N: So today we had Esquiria and Takami! I hope you liked reading about these two. I didn't really explore tributes very deeply in Takami's, but his character's just so fun I couldn't resist turning to focus away from the kids you guys have submitted. I also really enjoyed writing Esquiria; she's another nicely built Mentor in my opinion, and I hope you like all the worldbuilding and history! :D**

 **I can't believe how far we are into this. Sure, we're not anywhere near the end, not to mention the Games, but we're over halfway done based on how I have everything laid out by a couple of chapters! Almost to fifty, wow, and with almost 700 reviews. Y'all are truly amazing!**

 **This day's going to be full of a lot of fun. We get to see the last 7 tributes yet to have a training day feature, and then we have Private Session report and the Scores/reactions. Should be a whole lot of fun to write, and after that everything just keeps getting better as we near the Games! :D**

 **Did you like these POVs? Anything that I need to work on? Anything you'd like to see in the future? And, just curious: who knows who sings both of the songs used in this chapter? :)**

 **Trivia:**

 **Takami (1 pt.) - What fruit does he eat when he comes out of his room?**

 **Esquiria (1 pt.) - What color is her cocktail dress?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	49. Training Day 3: Girls Meet World

**A/N: Today we have the last Pre-Games alliance to explore: Girls Meet World! This crew is compiled of Gaia Imani from Eight, Carmen Ionique-Astron from Twelve, Sage Alumius from Nine, and Bernie Areli from Five! We'll be seeing how the mostly-scorned-by-their-peers alliance interacts with one another and how they're all dealing with the stresses of the upcoming Games. Enjoy, and I'm sorry for the wait. I've become addicted to a new project of mine called Paradise, but I want to get BMO done for all of you, so I'm working on it instead.** **Summer is here, and while I still have a lot to do, I will have more writing time too!**

 **I DID IT IN LESS THAN A MONTH THIS TIME! one day less...but still less than a month...oh I promise I'll get more out faster xD**

 **Trigger warnings: Profanity and sexual innuendo  
**

 **{Gaia's song is "Coachella Woodstock In My Mind" by Lana Del Rey, Bernie's song is "Sweet Nothing" by Florence Welch & Calvin Harris, Sage's song is "Good Mourning" by Halsey, and Carmen's song is "Coming Down" by Halsey as well}**

* * *

 _'Cause what about all these children_

 _And what about all their parents_

 _And what about about all their crowns they wear_

 _In hair so long like mine_

 _And what about all their wishes_

 _Wrapped up like garland roses_

 _Round their little heads_

 _I said a prayer for a third time_

* * *

 ** _Gaia Imani, 15_**

 ** _District Eight Female_**

In the dream, I am floating a couple of feet above the ground. The snow glitters icily as I hover above it. Fuzzy silhouettes float around me, barely visible through the thick clouds of gusting snow that have been whipped up from the ground. Distorted numbers slam into my ears, ringing and buzzing and clattering like dishes and pans being cleaned in the school cafeteria's kitchen. I hear witch cackles and whirring sirens, and once the disjointed number one furrows into my ears, I'm falling to the ground. The ice crunches beneath my knees, the sharp crystals cutting through the thin cloth of my pajama pants and stabbing into my knees. Blood flows freely around me, and as I try to stand, the ice anchors me to the ground. Instead of cackles and sirens, I now hear screams and maniacal laughing. I watch a girl (at least I think it's a girl, based on her high pitched shriek) soar through the air like an angel, blood flying around her head like a halo as her five inch deep laceration takes her life faster than I can scream, "HELP ME!" Soon the bodies are piling up around me, and they have faces now, too many faces that I recognize, be it Mel the shift supervisor or my mother or Bobbin or my allies or even Woof and Uriah. And then I'm just laying there, loud pounding filling my ears, on a bed, panting and staring at a ceiling.

I'm awake. Of course. Just a dream, I knew that anyway. Usually I'm a lucid dreamer actually, but I lost control there for some reason. I would've just made the scene Bobbin and myself hovering through a little cutesy park in the winter and then building a snowman and having a snowball fight. The nice idea cements itself in my head, wiping away the terrifying nightmare and putting a small smile on my face as I prepare for the day.

As I'm pulling my top over my head, I hear a knock on the door. I quickly shrug on the shirt all of the way and then jog over to the door. I open it to see Woof standing there, looking a little concerned.

"Are you alright? I heard the kicking and moaning, and I've been knocking for a long time, even after the sounds stopped. An Avox assured me that the security camera footage showed that you were just having a nightmare, but I wanted to make sure my charge was doing fine."

"Oh, well, thanks," I murmur, blushing a little. I can't help it; I sometimes get bashful around people of the opposite gender, and no one can deny that Woof Parsons is rather attractive for a man from Eight. I'm not thinking about him in that way, though. It's just a natural instinct.

"Come on, let's eat breakfast. I see you're all made up, you're right on time then." We walk over to the table, where the rest of the team is sitting. Uriah's forehead is creased in some negative emotion as it perpetually is, Calico is swirling food around his plate with a bored look on his face, and Alexandrius is informing an Avox that all of the sausages have been minimally burned on the bottoms and that he absolutely _refuses_ to eat them in the shape that they're in. Woof, to spite our uppity Escort, grabs two of the barely burnt sausages off of the tray as the Avox walks past. He bites into one and comments on the great taste before handing the other to me, grinning. I suppress a giggle and swallow the whole thing in one bite, rubbing my stomach dramatically and groaning, "How scrumptious." Woof and I both sit down, laughing loudly as we fill our plates. All three other denizens of the table glare at us in unison. The synchronization is almost hilarious.

"Thick as thieves," Uriah grumbles, and then he shoots a strange look at Woof, and shakes his head lightly. Woof ignores the move, spearing a piece of fruit with his fork and biting into it.

Soon enough we've all eaten our morning meal, and then Calico and I are walking over the elevator to ride down for our final training session. Woof calmly reminds us that it's only a half day of training, then lunch, and then Private Sessions. After he's done, Uriah grunts about "not fucking up too much" at Private Sessions. I look at him, rather appalled, as the elevator doors snap shut. Calico's just laughing uproariously at the profanity, and I just roll my eyes at him. Luckily, he misses the action, or else he'd probably have gotten all up in arms and started off on another one of his snappy rants.

Before I know it, I'm back in the training center for the third time. Calico totters off to some station to start criticizing the trainer's hair if I can read his lips well enough. Meanwhile, I'm just standing near the entrance, watching as people enter. Calico and I are some of the first people down, and I don't see any of my three allies.

As I'm starting to finally get impatient, a minute after training has officially started, Sage and her District partner lope into the room, both panting quietly from the run down the hall to the center. Sage tells me about their training outfits getting shrunken in the wash and having to wait for new ones, and I laugh at the thought of Sage waddling into training with a belly shirt and shorts intended to be pants.

"I'm guessing that Bernie and Carmen aren't coming down again?" I insert two minutes later when there's still no sign of our other allies. Disappointment clearly tinges my voice.

"Correctamungo," Sage sighs, and we both then walk off to find a station to work at. We split up yesterday, and we've spent a whole lot of time at survival skills. While they're very essential, especially for "tributes of our caliber" as Woof would phrase it (or "tributes of our shitty weakness" as Uriah would phrase it), we also do need to know some weaponry. If I'm not mistaken, we probably will need to do some killing if we are to make it far in the Games. So we decide to go to the easiest-to-learn and most common weapon of all time in the Hunger Games: daggers.

All those Outlier boys and girls on the television make it look so easy when they nonchalantly plunge a dagger into another's forehead or throat or back without any prior experience. While they're an easier weapon, Sage and I are both fumbling around uselessly for a good twenty minutes before either of us remotely get a hang of the motions we have to do to properly utilize the dagger.

"Guess we're not going to be the killing type," Sage chortles as we walk away from the station an hour later.

"Tell me about it."

* * *

 _So I put my faith in something unknown_

 _I'm living on such sweet nothing_

 _But I'm tired of hope with nothing to hold_

 _I'm living on such sweet nothing_

 _And it's hard to learn_

 _And it's hard to love_

 _When you're giving me such sweet nothing_

 _Sweet nothing, sweet nothing_

 _You're giving me such sweet nothing_

* * *

 ** _Bernie Areli, 12_**

 ** _District Five Female_**

The freedom that's been granted on me here is staggering. Sure, I'm locked up in a huge building, awaiting my slaughter, but besides that, I have free roam of nearly every corridor. I can do whatever the heck I want, mainly because people pity me. I'm utilizing that fact to my advantage, exploring every inch of space, trying exotic foods, and having the time of my life. I even skipped breakfast entirely and left the District Five apartment before anyone else was up, only leaving a note telling them that I hadn't been kidnapped. I don't want to have to deal with the mess that is my stupid Mentor, and no one else really even cares about me in that apartment anyway. So I've come up to the Fun Floors to wait for my new best friend.

My foot taps impatiently against the floor as I sit on a huge throne inside the restaurant where Carmen said she'd meet me after we parted ways yesterday. The Avox server hands me my second chocolate banana milkshake, and I suck it all down in a few minutes. Still no Carmen. I have a minor bout of brain freeze after the last couple of long sips, and I rub my forehead to assuage the strange cold burn. Once it fades, I stand and march out of the establishment, looking around the area for Carmen. No sign of her. I sigh dejectedly and start perusing the other things on this floor, wondering if Carmen got hung up at any of them.

After an hour's survey of the area, I can confirm that Carmen is not and will not be in any of these places. They're a little too childish for the mature, motherly woman whom I've come to adore. She makes all of us feel so comfortable, and while she might be a liability with her pregnancy that's nearing its completion, her emotional stability and caring personality help knit our hodge podge group together, and she's sorely needed.

Yesterday, we spent the whole day up here, having the time of ours lives as we stuffed ourselves to the limit with sugary foods, rode rides, played games, and saw exotic attractions. It was one of the best days of my life, only tarnished by the fight with Anneliese that night. She said that we'd go at it again and meet up by the place I was drinking the milkshakes at, but it's more than an hour into our final five hour "training" session, and she can't miss any more, and it'll be no fun doing all of these things alone. So I decide to go check the District Twelve floor to see if she's still there.

Surprisingly, the doors snap open once I get to the floor. I would have expected you to have some sort of identification pass or something to make it onto another District's floor. I could go murder all of the Careers in their sleep! That would make things _way_ easier. I snicker at the idea as I step into the flat, looking around. There are only two people visible: Twelve's Mentor and Escort. I'm not sure of the Mentor's name. She's relatively new. I think it start with an E...Endymiona? No, that was District Seven's old stylist. Besides the Mentor is the famous Edna Trinket, who's worked as Twelve's Escort since the literal beginning. They're both hunched over the dining room table, sifting through their meager pile of sponsor forms and doing calculations. They both look up abruptly when they hear the elevator open.

"Are you lost honey?" the Mentor asks kindly, standing up and walking across the room to meet me. "I'm Eris."

"Hi. I'm not lost, I was looking for Carmen," I reply, looking at my shoes.

"Oh! Are you Bernie?" Eris inquires. "Carmen's been talking about all of you girls at dinner like you're her daughters!" She giggles, and she reminds me somewhat of Anneliese, which just makes my blood boil. I rush to the point, not wanting to waste anymore time chit chatting.

"So is Carmen here?" I ask slowly, making sure my annoyance doesn't seep into my tone.

"No, she decided to go into the training center today," Eris murmurs. "She wanted to ask the physician some questions about her baby."

"Oh," is the only syllable I can muster. "I'll be leaving, then."

"Toodles, honey!" Edna shouts from the table, while Eris waves shyly. I suppress the urge to sigh as I step into the elevator. I slump against the smooth metal wall next to the panel of floor buttons. I reach out and tap the D5 button. It lights up reddish orange, our District's primary color, and then the elevator whooshes down towards my District's flat. I have nothing better to do; it's lonely roaming the Fun Floors alone, and there's no way that I'll go back down to the training center again. It's bleak and boring and full of soon-to-be killers. The only laughter are hollow chuckles from allies trying to make their barely-acquaintanced partners comfortable so they'll become those who would risk their life on the Bloodbath field for their ally. It's somber and organized, and I suddenly have a knack for being a non conformist. All I want to do is curl up in my bed, drink exactly seventeen root beer floats, and shut out the world except for the Avox who will deliver my meals.

The only person in the flat when I get there are the quartet of Avoxes who work the area. I recall Ambrosia saying that she had to go to a fashion show her sister was modeling in during the late morning/early afternoon, and Anneliese is locked up in her room. I can hear her knitting needles clacking away furiously. I ignore her door, trudging over to the dining table. I sit down and grab an apple from the silvery bowl in the center, taking a careful bite. It makes my teeth ache a little, and I set the fruit down. My eyes drift over to some little machine that's sitting on the table. I pick it up, and my fingers accidentally press a power button on the bottom.

"Hello, my name is Cinta," the machine says in a fluid female voice that sounds definitively human, and not mechanical in any way. "Ask me any question, Miss Petrova. I have the answer!"

So this is Anneliese's machine. Not only will I ask it some ridiculous questions to anger her and amuse myself, but it might also be a useful tool to ask questions with more...hidden answers, if you get my meaning. But first, I gotta have some fun! I stream through questions, both funny and hilarious, and listen to her answers.

"Cinta, are you a virgin?" I inquire, stifling laughter.

"Of course. Machines do not have vaginas or phalli for effective sexual intercourse," Cinta replies calmly, and I'm laughing raucously. Once I quiet down, I no longer hear the clacking of Anneliese's needles. She's cleaning up, and I have very little time to ask my last question, a serious one.

"Cinta, do you know anything about Gladys Areli or Simon Areli?" I whisper hurriedly. It stings a little to speak my parent's names.

"Producing a holo file. Once copy is finished, you may transport file throughout the area and leave me where I am. Once you are done with the holo, hit the x button in the upper right hand corner, and the holo will dissolve."

I quickly tug the file through the air after the copy is complete. I tell Cinta to shut down before rushing into my room and easing door closed behind me before Anneliese comes out. My room's dark, and I keep it that way as I flop onto the bed, the holo file floating above my face and painting myself and the area around me in an ethereal light blue glow. I'm staring into the eyes of my parents, two separate pictures. They're both dressed as Avoxes.

"Simon Areli. Avox 6789, currently employed by Belladonna Metsungs," I murmur. "Gladys Areli. Avox 6790, currently employed by...by..."

I can't make myself say the words "the Hunger Games Fun Floors staff." My mother is here, in this building. Screw it that Carmen's not here. I'm on a quest, a quest to find my mother.

* * *

 _I've got a lover_

 _A love like religion_

 _I'm such a fool for sacrifice_

 _It's coming down, down, coming down_

 _It's coming down, down, coming down_

 _I've got a lover_

 _And I'm unforgiven_

 _I'm such a fool to pay this price_

 _It's coming down, down, coming down_

 _It's coming down, down, coming down_

* * *

 ** _Carmen Ionique-Astron, 17_**

 ** _District Twelve Female_**

I wait outside the small door into the Games physician's office, tapping my foot against the slick tile. The Six girl is apparently in there right now, and I have to wait my turn to go in. My hand automatically moves to my stomach, where I trace letters on the large baby bump through the stretchy fabric of the uniform's shirt. Filippo and Florence _._ The names Aris and I picked out for this child. The memories all swell into the front of my mind, and I pick out the happy ones. I fondly remember the birth of all of my other children, of Aris and I's wedding, of the day I laid my eyes on my future husband, singing on the street with a stomach that hadn't gotten any morsel of food inside it in over a week. The more bitter memories start to seep in, but before I can become immersed, the door squeals open. The Six girl wanders out, looking more than a little dazed. The physician, a tall, balding man, invites me in.

"Hello, my name is Dr. Endell," the man says, extending his smooth hand. It's cold when I shake it. "Please come in, and have a seat on the table."

I shuffle into the room. It's not as cramped and small as I imagined. A nurse works in the back of the room, analyzing some blood samples from someone or another. She spots us and pulls a curtain closed, separating her half of the room from ours. The examination half of the room has a few nice cabinets, a counter with a sink, a desk with a fancy computer mounted on it, and a table-seat thing that they have in doctor's offices. Dr. Endell sits down at the desk as I lay down on the exam table. He swivels in his spinny office chair, smiling at me as he folds his hands in his lap.

"You can sit up if you want, Mrs. Ionique-Astron," Dr. Endell tells me. I hurriedly sit up.

"I'm sorry, the only time I've seen a doctor's office is in a picture book," I laugh hollowly.

"You had all those children without going to the hospital?" Dr. Endell mutters in disbelief as he looks over my hastily compiled medical file that the Capitol probably put together after I was Reaped.

"Twelve's the only District without a true hospital. We just have midwives and apothecaries. A good friend of mine is a male midwife, a midhusband if you will, so I've gotten along alright along with a good dose of luck and all of that, I guess."

"Very lucky," Dr. Endell murmurs. "So, I'm guessing you're here about the baby?"

"Yeah," I whisper. "So, can we do an ultrasound? Or should we go straight for the induced labor? I'm just not sure how this all works."

Dr. Endell looks at me with his brow knitted. "Your...your Mentor didn't tell you? Not your Escort or your Stylist? Not even...dear Snow."

"Tell me what?" I ask, my voice growing higher as a strange wash of nerves rushes over me. What didn't they tell me? The fear is all encompassing, and I feel every nerve ending in my body fluttering and sparking as Dr. Endell's mouth moves soundlessly as he tries to form words.

"Oh shit, Carmen. We can't help you have the baby," Dr. Endell sighs, looking at his shoes.

The silence that permeates the room is nearly painful as I stare into Dr. Endell's pitying green eyes. My brain takes forever to process his words, and when they finally all fall into place, I'm slightly confused, but more worried and utterly terrified.

"What...what...what the actual fuck? I have no clue what you mean," I huff.

"It's in one of the amendments to the Games Bill. No one is allowed to help a pregnant tribute give birth to a tribute. We can move you and make you comfortable, but we cannot assist in the birth itself at all. So you have to do it naturally, all on your own."

"But...Cape told me that my body's fragile, that without his help or someone else's help, that my body might not...be able to take the birth."

"I can see that from your file. I want to help you, I really do. But to even give you an ultrasound would be committing treason, which can mean execution or life in prison, Carmen. I'm so, so sorry, but I have a family of my own. I can't risk my life to help you, darling."

"Will...if I die...will they help the baby?"

"Of course. Once the baby is born, we can retrieve it and help it and all and make sure it's healthy. We just cannot assist you, even after the birth."

"Will the baby go back to Twelve?" I question weakly. I feel something wet splash onto my hands, and I realize that I've been crying for a couple of minutes now. I wipe away the tears and the accumulating snot as Dr. Endell tries to conjure up an answer.

"Truthfully, I do not know. I would imagine that they would send the baby back, but I could also see the government will just put him up for adoption in the Capitol adoption system. Either way, he'd be raised well, if your husband is a good father back in Twelve."

"He's magical," I shudder, quivering. "They're all magical. So you can't help me have my baby."

"No, Carmen. I cannot," Dr. Endell mutters, teeth gritted.

"I have to do it all on my own." And that hurts so much. I've never really been on my own. Even when I was on the streets, I had friends and someone would always help the little starving girl if she starting going through spasms from starvation. I can hardly remember a time before Aris and Cape and the children. I have never really been alone. Twelve might be bleak and strung out and poor as dirt, but we're always there for each other. When one of us falls, another of us that is able stoops to help the fallen. I have no one. I will be alone, giving birth to a baby, be it in my Capitol bedroom, on the interviews stage, or in the arena. I will be all alone. The tears come thicker and faster, and they're splattering across my hands and legs, making me feel wet and cold and lonely.

"Here's some tissues," Dr. Endell murmurs, handing me the box. I push them away.

"Thank you for your time, Dr. Endell," I sniff through my tears. I extend my hand to shake hands in farewell, and he pulls me into a light hug.

"Sometimes they're too cruel," Dr. Endell whispers in my ear while we embrace. "Good luck, Carmen. You'll make it through this."

"I know I will," I say in reply, grinning, as we part. Really, in my head, I know I don't have a chance in hell, and by the way Dr. Endell looks at me pityingly as I walk out the door, he knows I don't have any chance of survival either.

* * *

 _They told me once, "there's a place where love conquers all"_

 _A city where the streets fill with milk and honey_

 _I haven't found it yet, but I'm still searching_

 _All I know is a hopeless place that flows with the blood of my kin_

 _Perhaps hopeless isn't a place_

 _Nothing but a state of mind_

 _They told me once, "don't trust the moon, she's always changing"_

 _The shores bend and break for her_

 _And she begs to be loved_

 _But nothing here is as it seems_

* * *

 ** _Sage Alumius, 15_**

 ** _District Nine Female_**

I steady the arrow, making sure it's as straight as I can manage, before I release the bowstring with a soft _twang._ The arrow arcs through the air and nicks the bottom of the target. The trainer, a man with long, fuzzy maroon dreads named Caldrianus, applauds lightly before turning back to Gaia. While I got the hang of the basic motions of archery in only about ten minutes of instruction, it's been over a half hour, and Gaia's still struggling to hold the instrument correctly. Caldrianus has to practically wrap his muscly body around her three times to get her hands and stance correct, and then he steps back. Her arms quake with effort as she pulls the string back as far as she can muster. Then she releases the taut string, and the arrow erupts off of the bow, soaring up towards the ceiling and burying itself in one of the rafters. I start chuckling lightly, and Caldrianus grins.

"At least we know you have range now," Caldrianus laughs. "Let's work on accuracy."

I fire a few more arrows at the target, hitting the edges, while Caldrianus whittles Gaia's skill into something decent by the end of the next half hour. Soon enough she's hitting the middle range of the target, and she's rather delighted. Caldrianus makes his way over to me and checks my stance. He has me spread my legs a little more and keep the bowstring more parallel to the side of my face. I fire again under his careful, helpful instruction, and the arrow buries itself a few inches from the center.

"Great job!" Caldrianus remarks. "You girls have made quite the improvement in the past hour or so."

"Why thank you," Gaia replies, smiling a little. "We would still be trying to fit our arrows on the string if you hadn't been here to help so graciously."

"Just doing my job, unlike some of the shmucks in this building," Caldrianus mutters, shaking his head a little before looking back up at us. "Do you guys want to keep practicing? It doesn't seem like anyone else is going to be coming over here until the end of the training session."

"I think we should go hit shelters," I interject before Gaia can say anything. It's nice to learn archery, but there's very little chance that either of us will get a functional bow and quiver of arrows in the arena. It's much more likely that we'll get a dagger or throwing knife, and that's why we spent the first three hours at those two stations. We came to archery because Gaia was interested, and now we only have a little under an hour of training left. We've hit nearly every survival station excepting shelters, and those can be crucial in some arenas, so I definitely want to go there with the time we have left.

"Oh yeah," Gaia says, sounding more than a little crestfallen. By the way she looks up at Caldrianus, I swear she might fancy him a little bit. "I'd love to stay, but it is pretty necessary to learn how to shelter oneself, especially if the arena's going to be rather inhospitable."

"I understand. I only want what's best for you girls," Caldrianus smiles. "Thanks for stopping by, and hopefully this station helped you out."

We part after a few more words in farewell. As we're walking towards the shelter station, only a row over and two down, I nudge Gaia with my shoulder.

"You're into Caldrianus!" I chortle, shaking my head slightly in the amazement. "That's why you were doing so badly at first at archery, you just wanted him all about you."

"Filthy lies!" Gaia squeaked. "I just suck at it."

"Filthy..." I trail off, waggling my eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh dear Snow, Sage! He's probably in his 30s! I'm 15! It's not even legal!"

"Fantasies don't need to make sense, especially for someone so imaginative like you, Gaia."

"Oh my effing lord, Sage!"

"I'll stop, but only if you pay me."

"In what?"

"A favor, and I'll leave you alone. Don't worry, it won't be like killing yourself or anything. Just something simple."

"Thank you so, so much. It's been a pleasure doing business with you." We mock shake hands, and then we arrive at the shelters station. The lady who runs it, a rotund woman named Divinity, teaches us pleasantly, but goes a little too slow, and by the time lunch is almost there, we haven't covered a majority of the basic skills. I'm a little restless, but I hold it back, making sure to listen to Divinity's parting words as the lunch chimes ring through the air.

"The Last Supper," Gaia jokes as we walk towards the lunchroom.

"Oh be quiet. What does that even mean? Is that from a book or something?" I inquire.

"I don't know. One of my friends at the factory was always blabbering about someone named Jesus and someone named Judas. He got arrested a while back," Gaia replies.

"Ah. Well, we do have more dinners ahead."

"Hopefully many of them."

* * *

 **A/N: Here it is! I hoped you enjoyed reading about these four! Now we only have a single training chapter left, and then we're onto Private Sessions, interviews, other Pre-Games festivities, and THE GAMES! I'm getting a little tired of writing training, so I'm excited that it's coming to a close soon so we can move onto bigger, better things. I'm getting pumped for what's to come!**

 **Which of these girls did you like the best? Who did you like the least? Any thoughts/criticism? Oh, and what did you think of the revelations Bernie and Carmen had this chapter?**

 **Trivia:**

 **Gaia (1 pt.) - What made Sage late to training?**

 **Bernie (1 pt.) - What are her parents' names?**

 **Carmen (1 pt.) - What color are Dr. Endell's eyes?**

 **Sage (1 pt.) - What is the name of the archery trainer?**

 **Until Next Time (hopefully soon!),**

 **Tracee**


	50. Training Day 3: Loners Part 2

**A/N: Our last three POVs of training! I'm excited to write out these three and then get onto the more exciting phases of this story like all of you probably are! To wrap up our training, today we'll be visiting the minds of Baron Arbor from Seven, Libby Miles from Six, and Rufus Braunvieh from Ten! After these three, we'll have a chapter with a POV waiting for the Sessions and then the Private Sessions report. After that, the scores, and then onto the interviews and such. This one came out quicker, and I hope you're all ready to end this portion of the story! :D**

 **Happy 50th chapter! Y'all are a true blessing, and I love you all dearly for all the support!**

 **Trigger warnings: Profanity**

 **{Baron's song is "Devil In Me" by Halsey, Libby's song is "Past Lives" by Borns, and Rufus's song is "Haunting" by, you guessed it, Halsey!}**

* * *

 _You said I'm_

 _Too much to handle_

 _You said I_

 _Shine too bright_

 _I burnt the candle_

 _Flew too high_

 _I won't take anyone down if I crawl tonight_

 _But I still let everyone down when I change in size_

 _And I went tumbling down trying to reach your height_

 _But I scream too loud when I speak my mind_

* * *

 ** _Baron Arbor, 16_**

 ** _District Seven Male_**

Oakes hands me my breakfast plate when I sit down. He's been building meals for Ivy and I since we arrived here. The landscape of my platter has been expertly arranged, the landforms plucked for various reasons, by Oakes himself. Protein to help build muscle, fat for energy storage, fruit and vegetables for vitamins, and so on. My head's still swimming in sleepy land, and I drowsily nod my thanks towards my Mentor after he sets down the plate in front of me. Oakes then goes back to the buffet cart, loading up a plate meticulously for Ivy, who sits across the table from me. Once she has a plate in front of her as well, Oakes makes one for himself and sits down next to me. We all began to dig in, and then there's loud clacking as Paula emerges from her room.

Her pretty white-blonde hair is in intentionally messy knots around her head, and she's dressed in some silvery gown that highlights her better features. She's shooting a promo interview today, I guess. She pulls the chair next to Ivy out with a screech and sits down. Razzle is frightened by all of the noise, and she looks up from her plate, loaded with powdered donuts, to quiver and shake her head indignantly at Paula.

"The health nut's still got you at it, eh?" Paula laughs. "I quit his meal plan the second day and ate whatever the fuck I wanted. You feeding my girl your 'careful, precise' food plan? Ivy, don't eat it if you don't want to. It's all a futile waste of time."

"Ignore her," Oakes guffaws. "She followed my meal plans to a T. She's just fiesty because she hates sitting in a chair for four hours with Fabula, under the bright lights with makeup coating her entire face."

"Stupid old man," Paula murmurs in a somehow affectionate manner, and once again I am perplexed by their relationship. Everyone I knew back home was straightforward. Either they liked me, or they didn't. That's probably because of my background, but still. I'm not the greatest at dissecting all of these emotional strands and strings to understand people's true meanings and the like, and that's probably why I'm still flying solo on the third day of training.

I eat my breakfast rather quietly, keeping my eyes locked on the plate as I gradually clear it. No one pays me much attention; Razzle is busy trying to brush the powdered sugar off of her face without ruining her makeup. Paula and Ivy are sniping retorts back and forth like a duo of hacking hyenas, and Oakes is eating himseifl while pensively sketching out the meal plan for the next couple of days on a napkin. I close my eyes and shovel the last bits of scrambled eggs into my mouth, savoring the taste and wishing, not for the first time, that I could be back in my Grandma Circe's homey little cabin, the smells of spices and wood smoke clogging my nostrils. I'm transported to toes curling in springy moss, wind chimes and glass vials tinkling in the wind, and the soft cadence of my grandmother's lullaby.

 _Among the tall hillocks, between the green trees, my love lies in wait, to swaddle thee. Among the tall hillocks, above the dove's rook, my love lies in wait, to rush like a brook. Among the tall hillocks, around the sound bend, my loves lies in wait, to have a hand to lend._

"What are you humming?" Razzle asks after she's dabbed away the powdered sugar from her too-bony-for-her-age face.

"An old song from Seven that my grandmother used to sing," I mutter, staring at my plate.

"Sing it again, Baron," Oakes murmurs. "I recognize it."

"I do too," Ivy inserts. "There's more verses, aren't there?"

"It's called The Hillock's Lullaby," I whisper.

"My mother used to sing that to me," Paula grunts.

And then, before I know it, everyone at the table is singing The Hillock's Lullaby, even Razzle. Despite her looks, she is pretty smart, and she really does love Seven's culture for whatever reason. None of our voices are that good, but our soft spoken verses mingle together to form something rather magical. By the end, Razzle's wiping tears from her eyes, and the small smile on Paula's face is the most genuine one I've ever seen.

Then Oakes looks at his watch, and swears. "Holy shit. Training started five minutes ago."

It's a clattering rush as we throw down our utensils, grab our shoes, and make a mad dash for the elevator. Paula is muttering mindlessly about being late for her interview, while Ivy and I want to make the most of our final hours of training. Razzle starts freaking because we're all freaking, and Oakes shouts for us to move quickly as the doors slide shut. The elevator swoops towards the basement. It stops at the ground level to let off a breathless Paula, and then goes down another floor to drop Ivy and I off at the training center. My District partner jogs off to find her allies, leaving me standing there for a moment.

"Kick it into gear, Baron," I growl to myself as I march into the Training Center. "The Coven's depending on you to not make a further fool out of them."

I stomp out into the Training Center and head immediately for hatchets and axes, where no one currently is. I need to focus in now, hone my skills in these last few precious hours. I know what I'll be showing the Gamemakers now due to Oakes's careful planning, and now I just have to refine the skills I've chosen in these last minutes to make sure I'm practicing them in front of the Gamemakers to the very best of my ability. The trainer just nods when I approach; I've been spending a lot of time here as late, and he doesn't even need to acknowledge or help me as I grab a hatchet and take my stance against a mannequin.

As I hack and splice, The Hillock's Lullaby echoes through my head, reverberating off of the crannies in my head that I didn't even know existed. Distant memories of my earlier childhood surface, and strange scents fill my nostrils, broken, unintelligible words flooding my ears. It's almost like a vision, but nothing really happens. I just keep dicing with the hatchet as the weird phenomenon in my brain continues on for a little before abruptly stopping. One last scene fills my head, however.

 _Hope is eternal,_ my grandmother whispers as she helps me stir soup in a mottled bronze pot. _Never give up, my sapling._

"I don't plan to, gramma," I hiss as I split open the head of the mannequin with my hatchet. I don't plan on giving up one ounce.

* * *

 _Past lives couldn't ever hold me down_

 _Lost love is sweeter when it's finally found_

 _I've got the strangest feeling_

 _This isn't our first time around_

 _Past lives couldn't ever come between us_

 _Some time the dreamers finally wake up_

 _Don't wake me I'm not dreaming_

 _Don't wake me I'm not dreaming_

* * *

 ** _Libby Miles, 16_**

 ** _District Six Female_**

I keep looking at the little paper slip Calla gave me. I glance back up at the clock hanging above the entrance to the lunch room; there's around three hours and fifteen minutes left. The slip says that I should go to Dr. Endell's office at three hours remaining in the session. I vehemently refused when Calla put the slip next to my plate at breakfast this morning. I don't need some doctor prodding and poking me and telling me that I'm certifiably insane. I've already covered all of those bases on my own. Then Calla got snappy and told me that I need to figure out what's wrong with my head so I can deal with it and have a chance in the arena, along with a few expletives sprinkled in that statement that I decided to omit of course. And I can't disagree with that.

There's always been a small part of me that's been afraid of doctors. It's just an inherent thing inside of me; the too clean rooms with rubbery gloves and sterile medical instruments. The fluorescent lights bearing down and the swish of the white lab coat, the squeak of the cushy tennis shoes. It also doesn't help that one of the few shows transmitted to Six is a horror series about doctors murdering patients. Also, when I was still on dirty morphling, my parents thought I was ill with something and wanted to take me to the doctor. I rebelled for as long as I could, and when they finally took me, the doctor did a blood test and told them I was addicted. I'll never forget my mother's eyes, boring into my soul as she choked back betrayed-feeling tears.

So I have an intolerance for doctor's visits. I'm already picturing Dr. Endell in my head. He'll have a snaggle tooth and a bad limp, and he'll have a fondness for horn rimmed glasses and nose piercings. His hair will probably be some crazy shade of pink, and he'll be wearing contacts that make his eyes yellow or purple, depending on his mood. He enjoys wearing corduroys and windbreakers with nothing underneath, all in various shades of blood red. Oh, and he wears periwinkle colored sandals that break so often that he's just taped them onto his feet with duct tape. The hilarious depiction distracts me from the reality of everything for a few moments. I've totally abandoned trying to actually be productive at my current station, edible plants, just sitting among the heaps of models and looking over them absently while Ambassa glares down at me with discontent towards me. She clicks over and taps me on the shoulder, her dark skin contrasting against my light.

"Six? There's a girl who wants to practice here, and all the slots are full. You don't seem to be doing much. Mind giving up your spot?"

 _What a brat. Punch her!_ Anaya squeals. I suppress her. She hasn't be bothering me much this morning since my nerves for the doctor's visit have been setting me on edge enough, but she can't resist making some comments even in burdensome moments like these. I shake off her words and reply.

"Sure," I murmur, glancing up at the clock. Two minutes until there's only three hours left of training. Code for time to go, and to move as fast as possible!

I rise to my feet and jog across the gym towards the exit into one of the hallways adjacent to the training center, the one Calla told me holds the personal offices of some officials, storage, the sickbay, and the exam room, where I'm heading. The two Peacekeepers stationed at the exit glare down at me when I arrive in front of them. I pull out my crumpled slip and hand it to them. The taller one looks it over, nods, and unlocks the door for me. I step through without a single word, not giving them the satisfaction of seeing the fear that's glimmering in my eyes. They'll think I'm scared of them, and not Dr. Endell.

I check the plaques outside of the doors. All of them are storage rooms or offices for a couple of minutes until I see a door with chairs on either side of it. The plaque next to it declares it the exam room, and I jog over and pound my fist against the door.

It cracks open, and I look up into the beaming face of a definitely-not snaggle toothed Dr. Endell. He's actually decently handsome, and looks more like a District citizen than a Capitolite with his sandy orange hair that's shoulder length and healthy for his age, and glittering blue eyes that hum with happiness. He beckons me inside and instructs me to sit on the exam table, and I ease myself onto the thing as he sits down at the desk, turning on his computer.

"So your Mentor, Ms. Espenson, set up this appointment to talk about your mental health," Dr. Endell says in a tone of voice that indicates that it is not a question. I still nod in agreement anyway, and Dr. Endell nods in response, opening up a file. I see the headshot of myself that they took at the Justice Building at the top, and then a blank space where the picture of me in the tribute uniform probably will be, the picture that they'll take before I go into the tube to project into the sky when I (probably) end up dying in the god forsaken arena.

"Talk to me about everything that's going on," Dr. Endell murmurs soothingly, and I launch right into it. If I try to go slowly, I won't be able to get the words out.

"Well, my sister died mysteriously a while back. I started morphling from the grief, and I started getting this voice in my head that sounds like her, telling me all these things and yelling at me and everything...I can sometimes push it away, but not normally. It distracts me and makes me seem like a maniac. I don't know. I know I'm crazy, I don't need a doctor's test to tell me all of this."

"What types of things does this voice tell you?"

"Well, Anaya-"

"You have a name for it?"

"It's my sister's voice," I hiss, disgruntled. "We've already been over this."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Miles. Continue."

"Yeah, she just taunts me, telling me to do bad things like stealing, hurting others and myself, and getting more morphling."

"She tells you to get more morphling?"

"Yeah, pretty often. It's the thing she always bothers me about, because she knows it's my sensitive point."

"I think I might know what's going on here," Dr. Endell muses, and I immediately perk up.

"You...you could solve this and help me?"

"It's not a drug or anything. But let me go through some stuff. So she's just a voice in your head? Not a personality that comes onto its own?"

"Yeah, she's just a voice in my head. I'm always myself. It's like we're having a conversation almost?" I'm starting to realize how truly jacked up I sound, but I have to keep going.

"Well, Ms. Miles...are you still addicted to dirty morphling?"

"Excuse me?! I quit ages ago. I haven't had anything since I was 14, over two years ago."

"Well, this affliction is common. There's a chemical compound in most dirty morphling from Six that triggers this phenomenon, especially if the abuser is going through a stressful or emotional time in that life. It distorts reality and has been known to insert a false reality, along with voices, into one's head. It makes the user take more drugs because doing so erases the voices and distortion for a short period of time. But the phenomenon usually fades in about a two week period after the last dosage."

His words hang in the air for a moment.

"I...but..." I trail off.

"Can I do a blood test?" Dr. Endell inquires softly.

"O-okay..." The process is quick. He draws just a dab of blood from my arm, and then runs it through a small machine and then pulls out a chip from the end of the machine. He plugs it into his computer, and the results pop up onto the screen. He looks them over curiously. It's medical lingo that I can't understand, but when he turns to me, he looks utterly sad.

"Libby...your last dose of morphling was less than two days ago."

* * *

 _Keep on haunting_

 _Keep on haunting me_

 _Keep on haunting_

 _Keep on haunting me_

 _I was as pure as a river_

 _But now I think I'm possessed_

 _You put a fever inside me_

 _And I've been cold since you left_

* * *

 ** _Rufus Braunvieh, 17_**

 ** _District Ten Male_**

The chimes ring through the air as I'm hunched over at the edible insects station, telling me that it's time to put down whatever I'm working with and head to lunch. Training is officially over. A few of the people nearby seem dissatisfied or exasperated that training is over. One boy has to be half dragged away from daggers as he complains and thrashes, saying that he needs more time to learn. However, I'm sort of relieved.

Oxen and Fixtata pretty much made her come down here today. I'm smart enough to realize that three days of playing with toys in a bleak gray room isn't going to do anything to change my odds in the Games, but Oxen and Fixtata wanted me to get a little bit more time in and also make sure that I'd get a good lunch and be there on time for Private Sessions. Apparently, you don't have to even go to the Private Sessions, and they just give you a 0. But no one's every missed them before, and I don't necessarily want to go down in history as the first thick headed dumbo who was too lazy to go to Private Sessions.

The lunch is rather quiet. I l alone at a table. Two other loners sit there; the pair from Six. The girl looks spacey and mortified simultaneously, barely eating any of her food, while her District partner looks at her sympathetically and tries to make conversation with her out of pity, but she doesn't respond, too caught up in whatever's playing through her mind at the moment. It's almost comical to watch for the first two minutes, and then it just becomes pathetic.

The Five girl arrives in the lunch room minutes from the end. She grabs a roll and sits down with two of her allies. The fourth, the pregnant one from Twelve, isn't present however. I do a count of everyone in the room. 23 tributes. We're all here, except for the pregnant lady.

The whispers start flowing through the room as the lunch rolls towards its end, and the pregnant girl still isn't here. If you aren't here by the end of the lunch, you're exempt from training and will receive a score of 0, which basically means you didn't show up and isn't an actual rating. It's something Tautulus went over this morning when he was talking to a few trainers, and I overheard. It's pretty common knowledge anyway, I'd just never heard of it before then.

I hear the Careers muttering about the pregnant girl being absent, and her three allies are chattering loudly, all looking extremely worried about the young woman's absence. I would be worried too; it would be rather embarrassing if one of your allies didn't even show for Private Sessions. Says enough to the public about the quality and skill set of those that are within it. The minutes tick away. Everyone's mostly finished with their food, including myself. We're now all just staring at the door and then up at the clock in anticipation, waiting for the Twelve girl to arrive. Because she has to, right?

With barely a minute left, the doors slam open. We all perk up, expecting to see the pregnant girl, but instead it's Twelve's young Mentor. She's panting, and she jogs over to Tautulus, who's waiting by the far side of the lunchroom, where he'll give us a speech while the lunchroom is rearranged into a sitting room for us to wait in until the Sessions are ready to start. The woman stops in front of Tautulus, and she catches her breath before speaking.

"Carmen collapsed when she got back to our floor from Endell's office," the Mentor pants. "She's in bed, and she can't move. They won't help her since it's pregnancy related. We've been supplying food and water just to make sure she doesn't die or anything, but we can't do anything else. Can you postpone Sessions or at least wait for her? It's not a matter of choice, it's a matter of that she literally cannot be here, or she could die."

"The rules clearly state that under any circumstances, a tribute who doesn't arrive in the lunchroom by the end of the lunch period will be excluded from Private Sessions." He points up at the clock. "It's almost a minute past the deadline for her. I'm sorry, Eris."

Twelve's Mentor, apparently Eris, growls and stalks off, still breathing heavily. We all turn to Tautulus, who wipes the pitying look from his face and grins widely at all of us.

"Welcome, tributes. Please, come gather around me as the staff will clear the tables and put out the waiting chairs."

We all stand and clump around him, trying not to pay attention to the symphony of screeches and scratches as Avoxes, trainers, and cooks alike help drag the tables out of the room and into storage, replacing them with rows of chairs, twenty four exactly. At the last moment, one of the Avoxes removes the twenty fourth chair before skittering off.

"Please, be seated in District order. Females first, males second. So, Ms. Vegas, you'll be first, and Mr. Parthenia, you'll be last." We all walk over to our seats. They're arranged into three rows of eight, the last one only seven. I'm in the back row, wedged in between a devilishly grinning Miriam and a sunny looking Eleven girl. Thank god you're not allowed to talk, or else I'd probably leave the room and accept my 0 just because I don't want to sit by these two for the next whatever hours.

"Tributes, the rules are simple. You will have fifteen minutes to demonstrate your skills before us. You will be graded on your skills, and will be assigned a score in the range of 1 to 12. The typical tribute earns around a 5. You may do any activity, even if it just sitting on the floor and doing absolutely nothing. You will still receive a 1 for being here. We may dismiss you at any time if we believe that we've seen enough. Once you're done with your Private Session, you will exit through the elevator and return to your District's floor and remain there for the rest of the day until the scores broadcast is released to the nation. Any questions?"

Tautulus is met with silence. He grins wolfishly then.

"Then I bid your farewell. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor. I'll see one of you at the Final Interview in a couple of weeks." And then he leaves just like that, out the door and probably to go home and work out or something ridiculous.

We sit there in silence for a few minutes as the Gamemakers must be preparing the training center and the Loft for the Sessions. And when they're ready, an automated voice rings throughout the renovated lunchroom, spooking many of us, myself included.

"Trinity Vegas." The One girl stands, beaming as she marches off into the Training Center. Now it's time to wait, wait, and wait some more. How fun.

* * *

 **A/N: TRAINING IS OFFICIALLY DONE HALLELUJAH! This was a really fun chapter to write but I'm so excited to move on! From now on, things will be even more fun to write for me, and I'm excited to see how everything goes :D**

 **Next will be Private Sessions reports, in the style of LCS's, just more in depth, along with a POV from one of the tributes about a piece of their session and then going back to their floor. Then I'll have the scores broadcast, also LCS style. And then we'll be onto interviews and such! :D**

 **Did you like these guys? Favorite of these three? Least favorite of these three? Now that you've seen everyone again, who would you say are you favorite six tributes? Oh, and what did you think about Libby's revelation?! And about Carmen?! GAH DRAMA**

 **I haven't put out the trivia answers in FOREVER, and I think I'll just put them all out the chapter before the Bloodbath. That way you can check your answers and calculate your points in one huge sitting. It will probably be easier that way.  
**

 **Trivia:**

 **Baron (1 pt.) - What is the song that he sings?**

 **Libby (1 pt.) - What color are the sandals that Libby's mental image of Dr. Endell wore?**

 **Rufus (1 pt.) - Who tried to convince Tautulus to let Carmen be able to compete in training?**


	51. Private Sessions Report

PRIVATE SESSIONS ASSESSMENTS

COURTESY OF LUDUM FACTOREM & HIS STAFF

 _TO:_

 _\- PRESIDENT GAIUS POMPEIUS SNOW_

 _\- GAMEMAKERS VECILY COCHRAN & ODORE EHRMPHELT_

 _\- INTERVIEWER FABULA OBCUBO_

 _\- ANNOUNCER NUNTIUS CALPOR_

 _\- ALL TRIBUTE TEAMS (STYLISTS, MENTORS, & ESCORTS, __ONLY TO RECEIVE THEIR TRIBUTES' ASSESSMENTS)_

* * *

EXPLANATION OF FORM:

NAME/AGE: Self explanatory.

SKILLS DEMONSTRATED: Self explanatory.

SKILLS ASSESSED: Assessment of skills shown

STRENGTHS: Self explanatory

WEAKNESSES: Self explanatory

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: After a mental examination, any mental or emotional quirks are listed here.

ODDS: Odds of how well a tribute will do. The average odds are around 24-1.

PREDICTED PLACEMENT: Our prediction of a tribute's placement.

NOTES: Ludum's comments on the tributes, mostly advice meant to be given to the tributes via Mentors.

* * *

DISTRICT ONE FEMALE

NAME/AGE: TRINITY VEGAS, 18

SKILLS SHOWN: AXES AND SPEARS

SKILLS ASSESSED: Trinity was impressive with her knowledge of weaponry. She disarmed the hardest trainer twice in a row at the axes station, showing use of an unusual weapon for a tribute from her District. She seemed to enjoy using the axe and made a point of beating the trainer rougher than she needed to. She then went to the spears station and threw three of them. She wasn't as good as her District partner, but she could certainly kill someone with a spear.

STRENGTHS: Trinity is very good with her weaponry and should be able to defend herself and be a real contender and a good Career. She is very attractive with the signature One set of blonde hair and blue-gray eyes and will likely earn many sponsors. She is independent and confident and ferocious and is willing to do whatever it takes to win, and is rather determined, more so than most tributes we see from One.

WEAKNESSES: Trinity can become indignant and ticked off easily and has anxiety issues. She also is pretty impatient, as is shown by her tapping her foot and rolling her eyes as it took a minute for the axes trainer to get back into position after her first win against him. She doesn't like being stereotyped and one could easily anger her if they know her trigger, that she is just another One girl. She isn't the best with survival skills or heavy weapons, and if she were in Oxen's arena she wouldn't last more than a week.

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: Typical cruel, cold Career premonitions.

ODDS: 12-1

PREDICTED PLACEMENT: 3rd

NOTES: Don't pretend you don't like the blonde, blue-eyed goddess look. Embrace it, and win.

* * *

DISTRICT ONE MALE

NAME/AGE: ZIRCON O'DILE, 17

SKILLS DEMONSTRATED: SPEARS AND DAGGERS

SKILLS ASSESSED: Zircon showed above average proficiency with spears as expected, throwing five of them and hitting the target every time. He hit near or directly on the center with every throw, and he did so with a good speed and precision. He did well with his daggers, fighting off an instructor for the rest of his allotted time, although it was obvious that the spear is his preferred and better weapon. He made several missteps in his dagger fight with the trainer and was barely able to recover once towards the end of his session. However, he showed a resilient defense, and managed to gain the offensive admirably once again. He seemed a little nervous and shaky.

STRENGTHS: Zircon shows proficiency with two different weapons, and is healthy physically. From his time at the IDE, he should be able to handle himself when faced with almost any weapon, and his files from the IDE show that he is a good weaponry master. He is good looking and resilient and intelligent may be able to get many sponsors. He has many assets that could help him become an easy crowd favorite. He's not an air head, but he's no Einstein. He is also excited to get in the Games and enjoys the Capitol thus far. He is also probably one of Snow's favorites.

WEAKNESSES: Zircon can be impulsive and hotheaded, and is loud and inflexible and wants things to go his way. He sometimes struggles to tamp down his emotions, although he isn't a total wildcard, he just isn't the best at pretending and such. His IDE files note that he isn't the most exemplary student in survival tactics He is nervous and might become overwhelmed when he enters the arena from the sheer nerves. However, that is a threat for all tributes, just amplified a little for Zircon.

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: Minor ADHD, so small it doesn't effect him much.

ODDS: 14-1

PREDICTED PLACEMENT: 4th

NOTES: Your patriotism and energy is inspiring, but tamp it down and lay low. Play off the crowd, and don't become a leader, but don't be a blind follower. Stay placid and patient, and you could easily take that crown in a couple of weeks.

* * *

DISTRICT TWO FEMALE

NAME/AGE: ARDIN VARNELL, 18

SKILLS SHOWN: THROWING KNIVES AND STRATEGY

SKILLS ASSESSED: Ardin entered the room and threw knives for the first five minutes, hitting the board somewhere near the bullseye or on the bullseye nearly every time. She kept wincing whenever she didn't hit the bullseye, and seemed to be locked in constant thought as she threw her knives, setting off her throw a bit at times. She then walked up into the Loft despite our protests and had a close conversation with me about planning and strategy. I'd heard her reputation, but I was certainly impressed by her intelligence and skills, as well as her confidence. She asked that I give her a score of 9 even though she is deserving of a 10.

STRENGTHS: Ardin is skilled with her weapon of choice, throwing knives, and from witnessing her during training, she can hold her own with a machete and a spear, although she is better by leaps and bounds with throwing knives. She is also witty and intelligent and really good with strategy. She has some leadership skills as well, and she might become the leader of the Career pack. She is rather attractive and with her skills and looks and actions in the Games she should earn herself a good amount of sponsors. She is also resilient and manipulative, judging from our observations.

WEAKNESSES: Ardin is locked in a heated feud of sorts over the leadership of the Career pack with the formidable Chavez Belasco. She has made herself the worst enemy possible, and their combat over leadership of the Career pack could lead to a possible early division. She also doesn't trust any of her allies at all, which could lead to conflicts or an early ousting from the pack. She also seems to have a little bit of self doubt while throwing her knives, as if what she is doing isn't good enough; she almost seems like a perfectionist. She also is a little overconfident in her strategy skills; she is very good, but she isn't the most skilled tactician I've ever seen. Scylas, of course, takes that crown.

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: Mostly clean, normal Career in mindset.

ODDS: 11-1

PREDICTED PLACEMENT: 2nd

NOTES: Back off and let Chavez lead, and you'll glide to the finish and then you'll be able to kill him. Lay low. The leader is always the first to fall.

* * *

DISTRICT TWO MALE

NAME/AGE: TYBERIOS PALATIUM, 18

SKILLS SHOWN: AXES, MACES, AND SWORDS

SKILLS ASSESSED: Tyberios showed immense skill with axes and maces, bashing apart a dozen mannequins with the respective weapons. He then turned to disarming a trainer using a sword and putting the tip of his sword against the trainer's throat. He was no-nonsense in his fighting style and there were no frilly maneuvers and moves, everything was straightforward and to the point in his fighting style.

STRENGTHS: Tyberios is very good with heavier weapons such as maces and swords, and he obviously is determined with his mission in mind, and is able to focus and ignore distractions outside of his head to the best of his ability. He is strong and is in good shape, and is gruffly handsome and could earn a good amount of sponsors if he puts on a good show. He doesn't seem to be easily scared as well.

WEAKNESSES: Tyberios is an exemplary tribute, excepting his one major flaw: his near constant, severe migraines. These take a huge toll on his score and his odds, and these drive him to become unfocused and impulsive, acting on desire alone to escape the pain and acting very recklessly. In a fight, especially with a fellow Career, such headaches could easily spell the end of him. He also isn't superiorly smart or crafty, and he seems to be pretty gullible based on our observations thus far, seeming to be following Ardin blindly. However, that could be an act.

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: Severe migraines and your usual Career kill-drive

ODDS: 16-1

PREDICTED PLACEMENT: 5th

NOTES: Why would Serephina even select you? There has to be a way to stop those headaches, and there has to be someone else who doesn't have your affliction that has the same skills. Sometimes Serephina's choices are...perplexing at best. Spend all your sponsor money to send him medicine. Then he'll have a good shot. And to Tyberios: publicize your struggles and make yourself empathetic. They'll rain down medicine on you like no tomorrow, and when you're clear, show them that they made the right choice.

* * *

DISTRICT THREE FEMALE

NAME/AGE: FUJITSA LAMAC, 17

SKILLS DEMONSTRATED: TRAPS, POISONS, AND EDIBLE INSECTS

SKILLS ASSESSED: Fujitsa made her way into the private sessions room and immediately set to work at the traps station creating some strange contraption she had spent an entire training day learning to construct, and the other two to perfect. In ten minutes she had created a small wooden catapult that functioned and could send sharp rocks or poisons at other tributes. She then made a simple poison out of organic materials for three minutes before dashing over to the edible insects station for the last two minutes and matching all the edible insects together. She messed up twice as she was moving so fast, trying to get everything done in time.

STRENGTHS: Fujitsa is rather intelligent and crafty. She is motivated to return home as the engagement ring on her finger tells me, and she is also pretty realistic and mature and grounded in the present. She can build her admittedly awesome catapult in a speedy time and can make poisons and knows some edible insects and did practice some other survival skills in training. She is part of the four person alliance with her District partner, the girl from Seven, and the boy from Eleven and that alliance should do rather well, as all four tributes involved are rather strong and formidable.

WEAKNESSES: Fujitsa may be picked off as a weak link in her alliance, as her skills are lacking compared to Ivy's & Omri's, and she doesn't seem to be as in harmony with the alliance as Millard. If this arena were a forest or any place with wood, I would be giving her a higher score, maybe even an 8. But in this prairie, there are no trees. She'd be hard pressed to find materials to construct her only weapon, and I doubt she'll have enough sponsor funds to get supplies to build it.

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: Fujitsa has had a rough upbringing, including, but not limited to, the loss of her mother, the crippling of her twin sister, and being incarcerated for sexual assault for six months. She is effected by this but she is not depressed or suicidal, although she has been in the past.

ODDS: 24-1

PREDICTED PLACEMENT: 14th

NOTES: Too bad my original plan of a frozen forest got shot down by Snow, or you'd be a real contender. Keep your head in it and stick with your allies as long as you can, and you might be able to make it far or even win the entire thing. You've got a good head on your shoulders; don't self implode.

* * *

DISTRICT THREE MALE

NAME/AGE: MILLARD VAITH, 18

SKILLS DEMONSTRATED: SPEARS & EDIBLE PLANTS

SKILLS ASSESSED: Millard was very curt and polite when he entered the room. He opted to start out on spears and threw a few of them at the targets. He wasn't bad by any means, but his stance was a little off and it was obvious that he hadn't thrown a spear until three days prior. One of the four spears hit the targets straight on, two nicked the sides of the target, and the fourth missed completely. Millard then jogged over to the edible plants station where he showed his decent intelligence and memorization skills as he matched the sets of edible plants together for the rest of his time rather confidently.

STRENGTHS: Millard seems to be mature and independent and can take care of himself. He also seems pretty resilient, as when he missed the one spear throw he just smiled at us and continued to throw. His manners and decent looks as well as his LGBTQ identity will help him possibly become one of the Capitol's favorite Outliers, along with his strong, solid alliance with his District partner and the girl from Seven and the boy from Eleven, who all are pretty strong for Outliers. He is decently intelligent and straight forward and seems like a polite, nice type of guy that you might know, which can contribute to his possible popularity.

WEAKNESSES: Millard is an Outlier, of course. He lacks formal weaponry training and his survival skills are shaky at best. He's impatient and a little impulsive at times, and he can get distracted or too focused on one task and tune everything else out. He also isn't very brave, as when he picked up a spear for the first time his hands were shaking from fear and he nearly cut himself.

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: Millard has some family issues that Dr. Endell noted during Millard's exam. Not abandonment or physical abuse, but almost mental/emotional abuse.

ODDS: 25-1

PREDICTED PLACEMENT: 16th

NOTES: Your manners won't do you any good in the arena. Get in the right mindset, get ready to kill and back stab; it's your only chance.

* * *

DISTRICT FOUR FEMALE

NAME/AGE: CORDELIA NILE, 17

SKILLS DEMONSTRATED: TRIDENTS AND POISONS

SKILLS ASSESSED: Cordelia spent her first five minutes at tridents, and she did better than I honestly expected her to. While she wasn't terrible in training at all, she wasn't exactly Career caliber by any level. Either she was holding back or she's learned something these past three days, as her was much better, although not as great as most of her allies would've done. For her other ten minutes of the session, she surprisingly went to the poisons station and mixed two different concoctions, one based on poisonous berries and the other a water soluble powder made from a mix of common chemicals, both of which could be replicated in the arena, even easier with sponsorship gifts. While her combat was effective but lackluster, her poisons were rather fascinating; I wonder where she learned such a skill.

STRENGTHS: Cordelia's secret weapon seems to be poisons. She never once practiced them during training, yet she is adept with them. This hidden strength could easily help her outlast the rest of the pack through a simple poisoning. She is the underdog of the pack, and she could become a Capitol favorite with her story and her looks. She is nimble and small, and could also succeed at the hiding and defending angle rather well if she leaves the pack. She has made good social connections in her alliance, and is underestimated by many and might be able to survive the pack split due to her flying under the radar. In recent days, she has become less merciful and kind, and as she adapts to the Games and the environment of them, I believe she may not find it that hard to become a killer based on what we've seen from her.

WEAKNESSES: Cordelia is clearly on the bottom of her alliance. She might be easily dispatched after the pack breaks apart as she will not be able to kill most of the other Careers easily. She could also be used in the fashion that outliers are sometimes used by the pack: as either a watchdog or a scout, making sure the area is safe before the Careers proceed. Such a role is dangerous, but is one that she might easily fall into. While Cordelia is able with some weaponry and her poisons, she might struggle in combat against stronger opponents, and she is not well versed in many weapons. She also may not be able to handle the emotional strain of the Games if my predictions are incorrect. There are also rumors of her not being on Snow's good side for whatever reason. No one ever wins the Games without being on Snow's good side.

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: Clean.

ODDS: 18-1

PREDICTED PLACEMENT: 6th

NOTES: You are the underdog of the top dogs. You are a formula for a perfect Victor if you manage to get on Snow's good side and refine both your personality and skills a little. No one likes the nice girl in the Games who's friends with everyone. Drop the goody two shoes look and show them that you mean some business, but don't scare them. For you, it's all about balance. Find the perfect balance, and I'd be surprised to not see you make it far into the Games or on the podium at the Victory Ceremony.

* * *

DISTRICT FOUR MALE

NAME/AGE: CHAVEZ BELASCO, 18

SKILLS DEMONSTRATED: THROWING KNIVES, SWORDS, AND MANIPULATION

SKILLS ASSESSED: Chavez did well as expected from our observations of him practicing hard during the training days. Every knife he threw sunk into the near center of the target, definitely fatal enough to kill anyone. He even excelled on the moving targets, and was the only Career to utilize them during the Private Sessions. After five minutes of showing off his knife throwing skills, he then sparred with a trainer for five minutes with a sword. He was a little clumsy with the weapon at first, but when he got into the rhythm of it, oh boy. Soon his attacks were driving the trainer so far off of the mat that his back was against the wall. Then, for the last five minutes of his time, he almost...flirted with the Gamemakers around me, showing his perceptiveness and his ability to woo and manipulate people. It was rather impressive, and at first I thought he was going to strategize like Ardin but he didn't. At least he knew his bounds and stayed out of the Loft.

STRENGTHS: Chavez is an exemplary knife thrower and a notable swordsman, and is probably adept enough to kill with a multitude of other weapons based on the variety of weapons he played around with during the training days. He is cruel and merciless and has the best odds of winning and should definitely become a Capitol favorite. He has a handsome face and that swagger about him that will drive sponsors right to him like flies to honey. He is a good leader and seems to be winning the mental battle for control of the pack against Ardin Varnell of Two. He is also manipulative and might be able to utilize his allies in ways that most tributes would not be able to. Chavez is motivated and has a competitive drive. He's morally ambiguous and has good reflexes and is rather crafty.

WEAKNESSES: Chavez can be easily angered, as was shown by him going off on and/or severely intimidating several tributes, including his own District partner Cordelia. This could be taken advantage of. He has also made himself a target to the other members of the Career pack, being the probable leader and strongest member, and when the pack inevitably splits he might be teamed up on, making survival harder. Chavez can be overconfident and unstable at times as well. When he was talking to us, displaying his manipulation skills, he mentioned several intricate machinations in his master plan; this complicated plan might fall through easily even moments after the gong rings. Chavez can also be almost too cruel at times, and that might put off Capitol audiences if he is too despicable in the arena.

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: Severely competitive and manipulative, insecure, unstable at times, and easily angered, as well as the usual Career drive to kill. He seems to have suffered some sort of emotional abuse or neglect in the past.

ODDS: 9-1

PREDICTED PLACEMENT: 1st

NOTES: Those predicted 1st never win. Unless you're Serephina. Or Scylas. Or Brick. Or Kenyan. Or Lucia...just don't get too over confident, alright? Don't neglect to think about the Uriahs and the Annelieses and the Takamis. They're the type that can take your type down if you overlook them. Good luck. You have high expectations to live up to.

* * *

DISTRICT FIVE FEMALE

NAME/AGE: BERNADETTE ARELI, 12

SKILLS DEMONSTRATED: EDIBLE PLANTS

SKILLS ASSESSED: Bernadette entered her Session and walked over to the edible plants station. She fiddled with the memory game, doing below average and becoming frustrated with the game. She began then sorting through the plastic models of plants and showing us edible ones and trying to name them and their uses. She could only get a few half correct, and she did poorly overall. In frustration, she threw down the models and stormed out of the session after only being in there for three minutes, and we let the disgruntled girl go; we didn't need to see anything else.

STRENGTHS: Bernadette has placed herself in the all-girls alliance along with the pregnant Carmen, Sage, and Gaia. These older girls might be able to help her protect herself and they might act as a human shield of sorts for the young girl. Bernadette is cute and easy to pity, and she might receive some pitying sponsors to help her. She also seems to be rather fast and sort of fit. She is rather forgettable, and might be able to hide and slide to the end.

WEAKNESSES: Bernadette has a poor aptitude with all of the important skills: she obviously has no weaponry experience, and her survival skills are poor. She is still young, and her body is underdeveloped thus far, so she will struggle with strength and coordination. She is very frustrated with the state of things and at times seems to have given up; she has not attended training for a majority of the time. Overall, her skill set is lacking, and she sadly seems to have little motivation to do well and try to survive. She also has a fiery attitude that may be harmful to her in the Games.

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: Minor mental-social disabilities and the typical angst and turmoil accompanying the beginning of one's teenage years.

ODDS: 63-1

PREDICTED PLACEMENT: 23rd

NOTES: You got stuck in a bad situation. There's nothing you can do to change it, and giving up isn't a productive solution. I really hope you get yourself out of the mud and try to run, even if it seems futile. You never know how the odds might swing.

* * *

DISTRICT FIVE MALE

NAME/AGE: JAYCE NEWMAN, 17

SKILLS DEMONSTRATED: DAGGERS, FIRE MAKING, AND FLEXIBILITY

SKILLS ASSESSED: Jayce did an average job with most of his skills. With daggers, he faced off against the beginner opponent mannequin, and managed to beat it out, but he used his strength and agility along with the dagger. The performance was good for an Outlier who'd never touched a blade in his life, but it still wouldn't be enough to kill efficiently in the arena, nowhere near it. Fire making was interesting, as he managed to build a basic fire with ease, and he lit it after three attempts with the flint. It was a good show of survival skill. After that, for the last two minutes, he went through a simple stretching, yoga-like series of poses. I was perplexed at first, but then I realized the intent of his yoga; to show his ability to be calm, along with his nimbleness.

STRENGTHS: Jayce, despite his terminal illness, is resilient and strong minded when his illness isn't bringing him down too much. He is sarcastic and stubborn, which is both a blessing and a curse. He has rather thick skin, and isn't afraid to take risks. He is agile and flexible, and seems rather crafty. He has decent charisma when he wants to, as displayed by him earning an ally in Miriam. His survival skills seem to be decent, and he has good weaponry handling for an Outlier.

WEAKNESSES: His major weakness is his illness. If he wasn't sick, I might be giving him a 6, but alas. As time goes on, the disease will weaken him and make his body start to shut down according to Dr. Endell. He's towards the end, when everything starts to become sluggish within his body, and if he makes it farther into the Games, he won't function well. There's also the part that his disease is incurable, and he would die a month or two after his Victory. He is too reckless oftentimes, and he may struggle morally between survival and giving up. He'll be through much mental and physical stress. He also isn't an exemplary fighter.

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: Anxiety and similar mental health issues due to illness and hiding it

ODDS: 25-1

PREDICTED PLACEMENT: 15th

NOTES: I'll be brutally honest. You will still die if you win. There will not be any magic cure to come and save you. It's a terrible situation, but you have to make your decision. You have the option to be a hero, or to be forgotten, or to lengthen your life by a couple of months. Which will you choose?

* * *

DISTRICT SIX FEMALE

NAME/AGE: LIBERTY MILES, 16

SKILLS DEMONSTRATED: MEDICINE AND MACHETES

SKILLS ASSESSED: Libby stumbled into her session, totally out of it and spacey. She went over to the first aid station and took a test, scoring a decent sixty seven percent correct on it and displaying her average medicinal knowledge. Then she practiced with machetes. She was unfocused and uncoordinated, losing against the beginner opponent, even though we'd seen her do better in training. She failed repeatedly at machetes, not doing anywhere near her best, until her session's time came to a close.

STRENGTHS: Libby has thick skin and can focus on things. She is rather agile and fast. She is fiercely independent, and knows how to take care of herself. She shows decent knowledge of medicine and survival tactics for an outlier. She has shown herself able to handle weaponry better in training. She may also be easily able to fade into the background. She also has the potential to become a crowd favorite if she grows personally and has a strong redemptive arc, which has happened before.

WEAKNESSES: According to a blood test earlier today, Libby is suffering from Torcido's Syndrome, caused by her recreational morphling intake that has turned into an addiction long ago. Not only has her addiction weakened her physically somewhat, it has broken her mind and has distorted her perception. She sees people different ways, experiences events in different ways than they occurred, has memories of things that never happened, and has a voice or voices in her head. This syndrome is crippling, and while it may fade after Libby's intake is cut off, it will still be prevalent for most of the Games. She also struggles with weaponry, and her syndrome has lead her to become recently unfocused and shocked by the information that she's still using; apparently, she hasn't realized she was still on drugs due to the syndrome's distorting of perception. Her syndrome may be her downfall in the arena, as she may not be able to perceive a weapon coming at her or an arena event starting.

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: Case of Torcido's Syndrome.

ODDS: 33-1

PREDICTED PLACEMENT: 21st

NOTES: You got a raw deal, but you have to try and fight back the addiction and see through your syndrome's harsh effects. You're dynamic and a firecracker; if you can peer past the blurs of your illness, you could have a real shot at making it far. Try to clear everything up, and you might be surprised by how far you can go.

* * *

DISTRICT SIX MALE

NAME/AGE: FENDER HOPKINS, 17

SKILLS DEMONSTRATED: STRENGTH AND THROWING KNIVES

SKILLS ASSESSED: Fender started out with strength, and showed his great skill as he tossed weights around the room and bench pressed some pretty staggering amounts. After doing that for around eight minutes, he stood and walked over to throwing knives. He took a correct stance and threw rather well. All of the eight knives he threw hit the target. Out of the four rings on the target he chose, three hit the outermost (fourth) ring, two hit the third ring, two hit the second ring, and one almost hit right in the center. After his impressive show, Fender bowed before departing.

STRENGTHS: Fender displayed an extremely good physicality for an Outlier, showing off his strength and his capabilities with it. He also showed his fair talent with throwing knives, and as he has had no prior experience with them, it's pretty impressive for him to be doing so well and tells me of how good of an inherent fighter he is. He also is level headed, independent, and charismatic. He has the looks and the personality to become the boy-next-door tribute that could easily become a crowd favorite if he plays his cards correctly. He also showed mild skill with survival skills in training.

WEAKNESSES: Fender would work well in an alliance, but he is without one. He isn't that great with survival skills and might struggle to support himself in the arena. He might be too nice or merciful to truly succeed at the Games. He is a bigger threat going solo, and those types of tributes are often ganged up on by the Careers early on so threats are eliminated. Fender might also struggle to manipulate or lie, and he may take too long to make decisions as he weighs the options.

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: Clean.

ODDS: 21-1

PREDICTED PLACEMENT: 11th

NOTES: You have all of the cards. Right now, you just have to figure out how you're going to play them. Don't make any stupid moves, and you have a great chance of coming out of the arena with that crown perched on your head. Everyone likes the nice, cute boy, but they like the smoking hot, bad boy assassin even more.

* * *

DISTRICT SEVEN FEMALE

NAME/AGE: IVY CROSS, 16

SKILLS DEMONSTRATED: HATCHETS AND AGILITY

SKILLS ASSESSED: Ivy showed proficiency with hatchets that only tributes from Seven normally showcase. She attacked several dummies and tore them to pieces with her weapon of choice, displaying her skill clearly for us. While her skills were good, they weren't refined, and many of her movements were overly forceful and choppy. It was obvious that while she could kill with her weapon of choice, she was no master at it. She then approached the obstacle course and displayed her admirable agility. While she wasn't extremely nimble, she did show above average speed and flexibility for an Outlier.

STRENGTHS: Ivy has displayed an obvious proficiency with hatchets, a fairly common weapon. This will help her fend off attackers or even go on the offensive if she wishes, and she is one of the few Outliers to be able to handle a weapon rather well. She is fast and agile, which will help her in the arena. She has also amassed an alliance of Millard, Fuji, and Omri, a strong group that could make it to the end of the Games if they manage to remain together. She also has the makings of an Outlier favorite: a pretty face, a good skillset, and a tragic backstory. She also seems to know some survival skills.

WEAKNESSES: Ivy has shown some reckless qualities. She also seems to have partially alienated Fuji from her alliance unintentionally, which could cause an early split or further problems down the road during the Games. She also doesn't have great physical strength. Ivy might become too overconfident or might take too big of risks in the Games. She also may struggle to utilize any weapon besides a hatchet very well. Therefore, she may also risk her life in the Bloodbath to get a hatchet, and her chances of dying will be much higher.

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: Emotional/mental abuse from family neglect and belittlement.

ODDS: 21-1

PREDICTED PLACEMENT: 10th

NOTES: You have a good chance. You have the story, the face, the group, the skillset. Be mindful of your allies and your surroundings; don't overthink, become overconfident, or overly complacent. You must find your footing and stick there. I hope you choose the right place to stand.

* * *

DISTRICT SEVEN MALE

NAME/AGE: BARON ARBOR, 16

SKILLS DEMONSTRATED: AXES, MEDICINE, AND EDIBLE PLANTS

SKILLS ASSESSED: Baron set out to display his variety of skills, and it was admirable! His skill with axes was his most lackluster. While he wasn't bad at all, he was not very refined, like Ivy. However, he did show more skill. He could kill, but not extremely efficiently. After fighting dummies for four minutes at axes, he went over to the medicine station. Instead of taking the first aid test, he surprised us and made a few herbal concoctions and told us their uses. The medicinal trainer affirmed that they were properly done. Then he spent his last three minutes at edible plants, doing very well and getting a 98 percent on the test he took.

STRENGTHS: Baron's primary skill set is in survival skills. With his background, he will be able to live off of the land with ease, and be able to keep himself healthy. He also has intermediate weaponry knowledge, and would be able to defend himself against most of the Outliers, although he may struggle against the Careers. He does seem rather intimidating, and seems to have built up a reputation with his volunteering and such that may frighten others away from him. He seems to have considerable strength.

WEAKNESSES: Baron does not seem to be above average in speed or agility. With his intimidating persona, he has scared away many potential allies even if he does want them. He has also made himself quite the target, and he may be hunted down by the Careers at the Bloodbath due to his label of threat. He also isn't amazing with weaponry, and may struggle with weapons other than axes and hatchets. He also is probably not a favorite of Snow's by any means.

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: Emotional turmoil from his life events, including the Coven being attacked, his father not being around, being put on death row, etc. that has caused minor anxiety issues.

ODDS: 20-1

PREDICTED PLACEMENT: 9th

NOTES: For someone on death row, you don't seem like a bad guy. Keep you act together and show everyone that there's more to you than a scary convict who volunteered to save his life. Lay low, and you can make it all the way, and you won't even need a dash of magic to do so.

* * *

DISTRICT EIGHT FEMALE

NAME/AGE: GAIA IMANI, 15

SKILLS DEMONSTRATED: EDIBLE PLANTS, BLOWPIPE, AND DAGGERS

SKILLS ASSESSED: Gaia showed us her primary skill, edible plants. She'd taken an obvious bias for this station, spending six hours there during training. She already seemed entirely knowledgeable of botany, and she is one of the best tributes we've ever seen with this skill. She scored a perfect 100 on her test! After her show at the edible plants station, however, things started to go downhill. She built a blowpipe by hand, which was impressive, but her aim wasn't very well when she fired darts at a target. Then she went to daggers. Maybe it was the nerves, but Gaia really struggled here, and the beginner trainer managed to disarm her twice before her time was up.

STRENGTHS: Gaia is great with survival skills. She should be able to easily sustain herself and her allies in the arena with her knowledge. She also has amassed a group of similar girls that may be able to help her survive if they can work well together. She is smart and seems to have a good sense of how to handle herself and seems to be sharp. She also seems decently agile. She also can build her blowpipe.

WEAKNESSES: While Gaia thrives with survival skills, she struggles in most other areas. She lacks physical strength and speed. She cannot handle weapons very well; even if she was not nervous, her performance would have probably been still poor at daggers, and even though her blowpipe is interesting, it would struggle to be effective in the arena. She seems to get easily worried, anxious, and nervous, which is not a good trait to have in the arena. She also is in a group of weaker girls, which may limit her. They may become dependent on her survival skills, and she may overwork herself to a dangerous point.

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: Clean.

ODDS: 31-1

PREDICTED PLACEMENT: 20th

NOTES: Don't become an overtaxed provider. You seem to have a strong sense of morality; break it, run off on your own, and survive.

* * *

DISTRICT EIGHT MALE

NAME/AGE: CALICO D'AMBOISE, 14

SKILLS DEMONSTRATED: DESTRUCTION

SKILLS ASSESSED: Calico entered the room in a rage. He immediately grabbed a rack of daggers and pushed it over, yelling as they clattered everywhere. He looked up at us and smirked as he punched at a dummy and used the paints at the camouflage station to write obscenities on the floor and on his forearms in garish colors. He threw the insect models at edible insects across the room and ripped up a stack of medical tests and threw the scraps through the air. While he didn't show any concrete skill, he did show his anger and his pure energy, which was decently impressive. After he left, we had to take a five minute break in between Calico and the next tribute to clean up.

STRENGTHS: Calico is an underdog, and may be easily forgotten by the other tributes if he manages to survive the Bloodbath. Such a non-threat, he could easily coast to the end if he manages to keep himself alive. He also comes from one of the wealthiest families in Eight, and he may receive much sponsorship just from his desperate family. He also has an unbridled rage within him that may help power him and drive him.

WEAKNESSES: Calico lacks in every conventional area. His survival skills, his weaponry skills, and his physicality are all very poor. He is rude and struggles to connect with other tributes, resulting in the lack of an alliance, which could be a game changer for him. He will have a hard time connecting with the audience. He also seems to have almost given up in a sense.

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: Minor emotional abuse and severe insecurity/low self esteem.

ODDS: 52-1

PREDICTED PLACEMENT: 22nd

NOTES: Get your act together. If you give up, you have no chance. Look at Uriah; he took that 0.01 percent chance and turned it into Victory. You can do the same if you believe and try hard enough.

* * *

DISTRICT NINE FEMALE

NAME/AGE: SAFFRONELLE ALUMIUS, 15

SKILLS DEMONSTRATED: THROWING KNIVES AND EDIBLE INSECTS

SKILLS ASSESSED: Saffronelle headed to throwing knives first. She'd been practicing with them for a considerable amount of time at training, and the practice paid off. She threw eight knives. Her first throw was off as she got into it, and she missed the target. The other seven all hit, though. Three hit the outer ring, one hit the third ring, and the other three hit the second ring, one of them almost in the center ring. It was good skill, but she stood at the closer starting line, as opposed to the farther one where tributes like Fender had thrown from, which was about five feet closer to the target. Then she went to edible insects, and scored an admirable 92 percent on the test, showing that she had some knowledge of survival skills.

STRENGTHS: Saffronelle displays intermediate weaponry knowledge, which will be helpful to her in the arena. She also seems to know her survival skills pretty decently. While she isn't as good as her ally Gaia, she is still decent, and she also has a leg up over Gaia in the fact that she is rather strong, fast, and agile for an Outlier, especially one from the inner cities of Nine. She also is friendly and has formed a nice alliance to help her in the Games.

WEAKNESSES: Saffronelle may be pulled down by the weaker members of her alliance, and may be called upon to defend them as their strongest member, which is a dangerous position to be in. She sometimes has violent mood swings which might damage her relationship with her alliance and such. While she has good physicality and weaponry experience for a tribute of her background, it is not extraordinary by any means.

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: Mood swings

ODDS: 24-1

PREDICTED PLACEMENT: 13th

NOTES: You're a strong girl. You remind me of Pumpkin for some reason. Stick to yourself and power through these Games. Don't be afraid to leave your allies if that's what you need to do to survive. Appeal to the audience and control yourself, and you may just surprise yourself.

* * *

DISTRICT NINE MALE

NAME/AGE: LUKE SATURN, 17

SKILLS DEMONSTRATED: SICKLES, SCYTHES, AND AGILITY

SKILLS ASSESSED: Luke showed extreme mastery with his weaponry. He spent the first five minutes slashing his sickle at animated dummies, and he managed to defend himself very well and even take the offensive for most of the sparring session. After he was done with sickles, he went to scythes. Instead of going with the dummies, he called the trainer out. Oraella grinned, and the two went through a complicated dancing spar that Luke eventually won. For his last three minutes, Luke raced across the obstacle course. While he wasn't amazing, he did rather well.

STRENGTHS: Luke shows great proficiency with weaponry, and he is one of the best fighters in our crop of Outliers this year. His ability with sickles and scythes is due to his upbringing in the Midlands, but he still is very good with them, even for a boy who's grown up with them. He is harshly independent and can take care of himself with ease. He is cold and it seems that he will have little trouble with killing. He is also rather strong and agile. Luke also has decent knowledge of basic survival skills from living on the Panem equivalent of the Frontier in the Midlands. He easily focuses and is a good schematic thinker. He also has a great angle to play; the lone bad boy, cruising through the arena and picking off his opponents. The Capitol will be dying to melt his heart of ice.

WEAKNESSES: Luke lacks a thorough knowledge of survival skills, and may struggle with things like fire making and water finding if he didn't practice them enough in training. He is a true loner, and while this is a good asset, it is also negative, as it may be boring to see him gliding around for the audience. He doesn't seem like the type to make trouble were it isn't needed. He is easily angered and then becomes reckless, and this may lead to dangerous situations for him. He may also be targeted by the Careers for his strength.

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: The emotional repercussions of growing up orphaned, along with a severe phobia for the cause of his parents deaths: stampeding herds of any type of creature.

ODDS: 19-1

PREDICTED PLACEMENT: 8th

NOTES: You have everything going your way so far; don't be afraid to loosen up a little and let the Capitol in. That's the way they'll love you. Work the crowd and work yourself, and I will see you back in the Capitol in a couple of weeks.

* * *

DISTRICT TEN FEMALE

NAME/AGE: MIRIAM PARK, 13

SKILLS DEMONSTRATED: DAGGERS, AGILITY, AND MOTIVATION

SKILLS ASSESSED: Miriam spent the first six minutes sparring against the intermediate trainer with daggers, and she surprisingly managed to hold her own and even disarm the trainer, even though that involved the distraction of her screaming like a banshee and then slamming the pommel of her dagger between his legs. Still effective, if not exactly smooth. Then she went on the obstacle course to show off her good physicality for her age for six minutes, leaving her with three minutes left. She sat down on the floor and talked to us about her home life and why she needs to win.

STRENGTHS: Miriam showed surprising resiliency and power. Her dagger skills were decent, and her strategy ingenious. However, it was rather choppy and she almost lost on several occurrences, only barely recovering. She did well on the obstacle course, showcasing her great physical health for a girl of her age. However, she will still struggle to compete with many tributes in that area just because they have years on her. She can be independent and is a firecracker; the crowd is eating her persona already. Her motivation was inspiring, and she has many of the pieces of an Outlier favorite. Her alliance with Jayce is both a blessing and a curse. The beneficial effects are protection and a good dynamic with another tribute that may give them more screen time.

WEAKNESSES: Miriam's age is her limiting factor. If Miriam entered the Games four years from now, she would be an absolutely formidable opponent that could be up there with tributes like Luke, Baron, Fender, Ivy, and Omri, even possibly some of the weaker Careers. But her age limits her, as she is not physically developed fully and struggles with that. She isn't very strong, and she acts rather impulsively, and toes the line between heart warmingly sarcastic and annoying. Her alliance with Jayce has negative consequences, as she may struggle to care for or leave him if his condition becomes worse, and he may drag her down.

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: Minor emotional turmoil due to life events in Ten with her mother.

ODDS: 26-1

PREDICTED PLACEMENT: 17th

NOTES: I like you, I really do. I'm sorry you got Reaped so young, but even now you have a good chance. Blow them all away and whip out that story you told us; make the audience fall in love with you, and run with it. I wouldn't honestly be surprised if we got our youngest Victor yet this year.

* * *

DISTRICT TEN MALE

NAME/AGE: RUFUS BRAUNVIEH, 17

SKILLS DEMONSTRATED: PITCHFORKS AND EDIBLE INSECTS

SKILLS ASSESSED: Rufus went to pitchforks first. It's a rarely frequented station, as most just visit tridents, but the two are rather different. Rufus must have experience with the tool from his work back in Ten, because he seemed familiar with the pitchfork. He was shaky with nerves at first, but he did rather well as he slashed and stabbed at dummies for the first nine minutes. For the last six minutes, he went to edible insects and took a memory test, scoring a 78 on it.

STRENGTHS: Rufus shows good weaponry skills, and he should be able to defend himself rather well against opponents. He seems to be in good physical shape, which will be beneficial in the arena. His survival skills are around average, but he should be able to keep himself alive with a few hiccups. He seems to be able to focus rather easily, and is decently independent. He has decent endurance. He's also rather amiable often times, and it's surprising he didn't find allies. He fades into the background, which may be helpful to him in the Games if he decides to play that strategy.

WEAKNESSES: Rufus isn't that great with survival skills, and he didn't practice all of them thoroughly, so he may struggle in the arena to survive well. He is rather reckless sometimes, and doesn't always think about the repercussions of his actions. He is not that agile, being a rather clumsy fellow, and he also isn't the best at sprinting. He is without an ally, which may make the Games more difficult for him. He does not seem to have many of the attributes to become a crowd favorite.

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: Clean.

ODDS: 27-1

PREDICTED PLACEMENT: 18th

NOTES: You're pretty forgettable. Use that as leverage. Fade into the background until no one even remembers your name, and then give them the sucker punch and the rude awakening when you win the whole goddamn thing. The Capitol loves the star, but they also love a good surprise.

* * *

DISTRICT ELEVEN FEMALE

NAME/AGE: SOYA CHAFFER, 17

SKILLS DEMONSTRATED: PITCHFORKS AND EDIBLE PLANTS

SKILLS ASSESSED: Pitchforks seem to be rather popular this year. I've never seen two tributes display them in the same year. Soya wasn't as good as Rufus with a pitchfork, but she was still familiar with it and did a decent job fending off the beginner trainer that she faced. She got disarmed once, however, but she quickly got her pitchfork back and continued to fight. After she did that for six minutes, she then went over to edible plants and took the test twice. First she got an 86 percent, and the second time she got an 88.

STRENGTHS: Soya shows average skill with weaponry, displaying the ability to defend herself against most of the Outliers for a shorter period of time. She also displayed pretty good survival skills. She is agile and pretty fast, and that should help her in the opening minutes and such. She has also formed an alliance with Gaylord, which is both bad and good. It is beneficial because she has a stronger tribute to protect her and also has companionship. The audience may find her charming or funny.

WEAKNESSES: Soya is intensely naive and overly optimistic. These viewpoints of her world, while not necessarily harmful back in Eleven, will make it difficult for her to navigate the Games. She is a very moral, very kind person, and she will struggle to kill and injure and do the other immoral things that are necessary to win the Games. She isn't extraordinary in any of her skills. Her alliance with Gaylord is negative in the way that he may be manipulating or controlling her, which is not good for her in the long run. The audience may find her ridiculous or annoying.

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: Severe naivete and optimism, possibly a coping mechanism to deal with the loss of her father.

ODDS: 29-1

PREDICTED PLACEMENT: 19th

NOTES: I don't want to burst your bubble, but you've got to wake up girl. I really hope it's all an act; if it is, bravo. You're fooling us all.

* * *

DISTRICT ELEVEN MALE

NAME/AGE: OMRI PLOWER, 18

SKILLS DEMONSTRATED: THROWING KNIVES, WRESTLING, AND EDIBLE PLANTS

SKILLS ASSESSED: Omri showed off his impressive throwing knife skills for the first six minutes of his session. He has obviously somehow had experience with them prior to the Games in Eleven, as he put on one of the best shows I've ever seen from an Outlier in a while. He threw twelve knives. All twelve hit the board. They all hit the inner three circles excepting one, and two actually hit bullseye! After that impressive feat, he went to wrestling, where he did rather well for the four minutes he was there. He chose the intermediate trainer and showed us his strength. He lacked strategy in his wrestling, however, but that is to be expected of an Outlier. For his last five minutes, he took the edible plants quiz twice, earning scores of 89 and 94.

STRENGTHS: Omri is a very well put together tribute. He is amazingly talented with throwing knives, and he with be lethal in the arena if he gets his hands on some. He is also strong, as when he showed us his brute strength through wrestling. And he also has rather good memory and survival skills, probably due in part to growing up in Eleven. He is friendly and attractive, and should probably be the Capitol's favorite Outlier, no doubt about it. He also is in the strongest Outlying alliance of this Games with Ivy, Millard, and Fuji.

WEAKNESSES: Omri is not the best at sprinting, although he's average on endurance running. He can act impulsive at times, and thinks in short term and lives in the moment instead of forecasting ahead. He seems a little taken aback by everything happening, and he needs to catch up to the pace of things or he might get left behind despite his abilities. He will most likely be targeted by the Careers. Also, he is the strongest member of his alliance, and when it inevitably breaks, the others might gang up on him.

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: Rather major insecurity issues.

ODDS: 18-1

PREDICTED PLACEMENT: 7th

NOTES: You're the one this year, Omri. The Outlier that everyone thinks can do it all. I hope you prove them right. Become friends with the nation and try to downplay your abilities a little, and you'll be golden. Stay away from the Careers on the first day, or they will get you. While this is advice given to every Outlier, this is imperative for you as you are the strongest Outlier this Games, and will be a large target of theirs. I'd bet on you if I could. You're better than you believe. Trust yourself.

* * *

DISTRICT TWELVE FEMALE

NAME/AGE: CARMEN IONIQUE-ASTRON, 17

SKILLS DEMONSTRATED: N/A (CARMEN DID NOT ATTEND HER PRIVATE SESSION)

SKILLS ASSESSED: N/A

STRENGTHS: N/A

WEAKNESSES: I'm putting her pregnancy, because, come on. I know we're not supposed to put anything on here besides predicted placement, but I got to...

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: N/A

ODDS: Unknown

PREDICTED PLACEMENT: 24th

NOTES: I hope your baby is born before the Games start. I don't want to have to deal with that moral crisis. It'll be a mess if that's all on live television, and who would kill a newborn's mother? You may just have a ticket to success, darling.

* * *

DISTRICT TWELVE MALE

NAME/AGE: GAYLORD PARTHENIA, 16

SKILLS DEMONSTRATED: POISONS, EDIBLE PLANTS, MACHETES, AND PHYSIQUE

SKILLS ASSESSED: Gaylord started off by mixing a few basic poisons for us and talking plainly about their uses, seemingly bored but showing us that he'd learned something while here. Then he went to edible plants, and scored a surprising 86 on his test. He smirked at our reactions to the score, and then he spent five minutes dueling with the intermediate trainer at machetes, doing rather well, although he lacked sophistication, it was just a lot of choppy blocking and stabbing. Then, for his last two minutes, he stripped down to his underwear and showed off his muscled body instead of lifting weights to show off his strength and physicality. A few of the Gamemakers, even Odore (I always knew he was bi!) were slobbering.

STRENGTHS: Gaylord exhibits great physical health for a tribute from his District. His weaponry skills were above average, and his survival skills would meet the quota most likely. He is physically strong and is rather flexible, and decent at running. Overall, his physicality is a marvel, since he lives in the dirty backstreets of Twelve. He also seems rather manipulative and social, and he can control people. He also has rather cunning and smart, though you wouldn't expect it. He also has his alliance with Soya, which is beneficial as she acts as his slave almost in some scenarios, and he may use her as a human shield or to do tasks for him. He is very attractive and persuasive, and has the ability to play the crowds.

WEAKNESSES: Gaylord is an alcoholic, and without access to alcohol in the arena, he may become irritable, impulsive, and reckless at times. He seems to be a little overconfident, and he may overplay his strengths and hurt himself or get himself killed because he believes he can do something or face another tribute that's stronger than him. He struggles to focus oftentimes, and this may be an issue in the arena. Soya may also drag him down, and he may get stuck protecting her, endangering his life.

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: Severe mental damage from the harsh chain of events that his life is. His life could be a bestseller.

ODDS: 22-1

PREDICTED PLACEMENT: 12th

* * *

 **A/N: I hope you enjoyed this! It took a lot of time and effort, but I have plenty of that to spare :)**

 **The odds correspond with certain scores, which you'll find out next chapter :) I'll explain what each score means in this chapter so you have an understanding before we jump into the scores chapter. I went by the books, unlike in my previous SYOT, where the scores were horrendously inflated:**

 **0 - no show, not rated**

 **1 - a severely disabled person that cannot function properly, like someone with severe autism, that shows up. Or someone who refuses to do anything in their session.**

 **2 - a very, very weak Outlier**

 **3- a weak Outlier**

 **4 - a sort of weak Outlier**

 **5 - this is the average score. If you give me someone with average skills in everything, they will most likely earn a 5.**

 **6 - this score is given to Outliers with above average skills that aren't extraordinary, or very sucky Careers.**

 **7 - this score is given to extraordinary Outliers, or rather weak Careers.**

 **8 - this score is given to really really amazing Outliers or weaker Careers**

 **9 - this score is given to average-pretty good Careers; average Career score**

 **10 - this score is given to rather good Careers**

 **11 - this score is given to amazing Careers**

 **12 - this score is given to mindblowing Careers**

 **With that covered, please tell me your thoughts! :D**

 **I'm just doing one trivia for this chapter:**

 **Sessions (1 pt.) - Name the two tributes who have odds of 21-1**

 **Until Next Time,  
**

 **Tracee**


	52. The Scores

**A/N: Here we have it! A POV from Miriam after her session, and then the scores broadcast! The score will be declared for every tribute, and then a few thoughts from the host, Fabula, along with the tribute's Mentor and the tribute themselves will follow. At the bottom, I'll compile a list of the scores for those of us too lazy to read XD Credit to MRKenn (my bestie Maia!) for the format.**

 **Trigger warnings: profanity (should I even say this still? XD)**

 **Miriam's song is The Prologue by Halsey.**

* * *

 _I am a child of a_

 _Money hungry, prideful country_

 _Grass is green and it's always sunny_

 _Hands so bloody, tastes like honey_

 _I'm finding it hard to leave_

* * *

 ** _Miriam Park, 13_**

 ** _District Ten Female_**

I walk down the sleek hallway after pushing open the exit doors. They click closed behind me, and I breathe a long, languid sigh of relief. I slouch to the ground, staring at the ceiling. A dozen strides down the hallway is the elevator that will carry me back to my floor, where I'll wait for a couple of hours until the scores are broadcast to the nation. Rufus is heading in there right now; in fact, I can hear the muffled proclamation ordering him to come into the Center. I have around fifteen minutes until Rufus comes in here and is back up on the floor, fifteen minutes without having to deal with the boy that's steadily become more and more of an ulcer on my experiences here. Just this morning he was sulking and barely ate anything because Oxen was forcing him to go to training. When a thirteen year old calls immature, you know you've got some work to do to improve yourself.

I just sit there for a minute, head tilted towards the ceiling, to collect myself. I showed them my skills with daggers, then I ran all over the obstacle course, and then I went for the pity angle a little and shared my home life to see if that'd shake them up any. Hopefully it was enough so I'm not a total embarrassment, eh?

After the adrenaline from the Session has faded, I wobble to my feet and walk down the hallway to the elevator. It pings open the moment I hit the button, as if it's been waiting for me impatiently. I step inside and I don't even need to press the 10 button. It zooms up on its own, and before I know it the doors are opening up and I'm stepping out onto the District Ten floor of the building, face to face with my eager Mentor, Escort, and then the stylist and prep teams for both myself and Rufus.

"How did it go?!" my peppy prep team leader, a slender woman with a poofy pink wig named Eurydice, inquires hurriedly.

"Did you show them your amazing awesome girl power skills?!" Tantalus, another one of my prep teamers, asks excitedly.

"I bet you did great," Oxen murmurs quietly, retreating back to the living room.

"What things did you do?" Fixtata questions calmly.

"You better have done well, my interview outfits always reflect a tribute's score in some fashion!" Powder announces airily.

"You just recycle ideas most of the time," Aveda, my third and final prep teamer, whispers under her breath, and Powder smacks her on the shoulder indignantly.

"I did fine," is my only response to all of their questions. I push past them, and one of Rufus's prep teamers huffs about rudeness, and Eurydice reprimands him. The two prep teams start to squabble, with Powder officiating the debate with a smug smile on her face. I groan inwardly and shuffle over to the dining room table, filling my plate with desserts galore. I plop down on the couch a couple of cushions down from Oxen, who's watching the blank screen passively. I bite into a cream puff, trying to ignore the arguments stemming from the other side of the room, where the prep teams are still going at it.

Everything falls silent when a couple of minutes later, the elevator doors slide open and Rufus steps out. There's flurries of questions again, but Rufus doesn't even answer any of them, fighting his way through the knot of excited Games personnel to his room, where he slams the door.

"Someone's Session must've went poorly," Tantalus pouts.

"Not as poorly as your nose job," Rufus's head prep teamer snarks. I think his name is either Endymion or Endilles. Either way, the fires are reignited, and the group takes it out to the balcony to sort out their petty issues while I devour dessert after dessert.

"Ah, they remind me of my youth," Fixtata sighs as she collapses on the couch.

"You look pretty young," I insert in between bites of my cannoli.

"Let's just say I'm in between the stage of being current and being retro," Fixtata huffs. She has a plate herself, but she's filled with with grapes and an apricot. How delicately these people eat, when they can just get all the fat sucked out of them like the pigs at the slaughterhouses. A machine literally husks the skin off of them. We saw it on a field trip to the slaughterhouses once, and I was one of the few girls who didn't barf or scream blood murder or cry pitifully on the bus ride back. It's purpose is to motivate us to learn so we don't have to get stuck in the worst job in the District, the manual slaughterhouses. While those machines are terrorizing to most, many factories force the less educated workers of the District to do that all by hand. It worked for about two weeks until the incidents faded from everyone's mind, excepting my own.

An hour, and then another tick by. I drift off for a short nap at some point or another, and when I wake up, the prep teams and Powder have all settled on the huge couch along with myself and Oxen. Fixtata is knocking on Rufus's door to get him to come out, and he hesitantly slinks into the living room area after Fixtata annoys him for a decent period of time. He collapses between myself and an anxious looking Eurydice.

Soon after our crew is completed and all collected on the couch, the TV turns on by its own accord, showing the seal of Panem. The Horn of Plenty anthem plays, and we all grasp our hands together and hold them against our sternum, with our fingers brushing our chins. The salute, if you will, associated with the anthem. We have to do it everyday in school.

Then the stage where the interviews occur is shown. The giant auditorium is empty except for interviewer Fabula Obcubo and announcer Nuntius Calpor. Nuntius will be announcing the scores, while Fabula will be going through the quick explanation process that happens every year before the Scores.

"Hello, and good evening Panem," Fabula recites with a perfect smile on her pretty face. "Tonight is the Scores broadcast. For the past three days, the tributes of the Twenty Second Annual Hunger Games have been given time to learn and practice a variety of skills that may be helpful to them in the arena. For the latter half of today, they displayed skills at their Private Sessions. They each received fifteen minutes to show off the things they had learned, and those actions were assessed by the Gamemakers. After the assessment, each tribute was assigned a score, from 1 to 12, rating their abilities, 1 being the worst, and 12 being the best. If a tribute was unable to attend the Session due to medical or other pressing reasons, they received a 0. Now, during this broadcast, the Scores that the tributes of the Twenty Second Annual Hunger Games have earned will be displayed to the entire nation, as a way to gauge the skills of each tribute. Without further ado, the Scores!"

* * *

 **THE SCORES**

* * *

 _From District One..._

 _Zircon O'Dile with a score of **9**!_

* * *

FABULA OBCUBO: This doesn't surprise me. He seems like a general run of the mill One boy to the naked eye, and his score fits that description. But his eyes...there's something more to this one. And he's hot, as always, which helps. I'm looking forward to our interview. I hate myself for it, but it is entertaining to have the Ones flirting with you for a solid three minutes. It brings the youth back to your veins.

KENYAN RUDD: I didn't expect any more nor any less. A 9 is an admirable score, even if it isn't my 10.

ZIRCON O'DILE: I can work with a 9. Of course, I was hoping to be a boss and get like a 12, but I didn't expect to. Waverley, Oxen, and Soren all won with 9s. I can too.

* * *

 _Trinity Vegas, with a score of **9**!_

* * *

FABULA OBCUBO: I like this looks of this one. She looks like your usual airhead, but they're an icy way about her smile and the way she looks into the camera. If I wasn't stupid, I'd almost think she was a taller, naturally blonde Esquiria.

ESQUIRIA PASQUALE: She did better than most of my girls. I'll have to commend her for that, I guess.

TRINITY VEGAS: A 9. I can't be angry, but I'm certainly not greatly pleased if I'm being honest. I know more was expected of me by the IDE.

* * *

 _From District Two..._

 _Tyberios Palatium with a score of **8**!_

* * *

FABULA OBCUBO: Why so low? He looks like the type who could destroy everyone with a glare. Oh, and now I'm looking at his report...ah. Poor gargantuan has some headaches. That's almost comical.

SCYLAS ONDINO: Damn. Only an 8? He's going to be one of the weakest members of the pack. I know it's only because of his migraines that he didn't get the 9 he deserves.

TYBERIOS PALATIUM: Well, fuck. I know who's going to be at the bottom of the alliance this year. Is there a way to smuggle that headache medicine into the arena?

* * *

 _Ardin Varnell with a score of_ ** _9_** _!_

* * *

FABULA OBCUBO: Hmm. She seems like a schemer. I don't like the looks of her. She's either going to go too hard or play this perfectly, but I know one thing for sure: she's more capable than a 9.

SEREPHINA MANCHAS: The plan is still in perfect motion. Her angle is being executed well. Well, not as well as when I did it...but still well.

ARDIN VARNELL: So they gave me what I wanted. Perfect! It'll be painful if Chavez scores higher than me, but I can deal with a sore ego.

* * *

 _From District Three..._

 _Millard Vaith with a score of **5**!_

* * *

FABULA OBCUBO: I didn't expect more, but I did expect a little less. From the looks of him, he's in the upper crust. Nice to see that he seems to have taken a step down from his pedestal.

TAKAMI WIRED: It's just what I expected, and I'm good with it. 5's an even score, and many with 5s make it far every year. It's better than what many of my tributes usually get.

MILLARD VAITH: I can't imagine myself getting anything higher, but one does have aspirations. Oh well. At least I probably scored better than my Party Gals would have.

* * *

 _Fujitsa LaMac with a score of **5**!_

* * *

FABULA OBCUBO: I expected a little more from her. She looks rugged and rough, like a real bitch ready to tear up your face and claw out your eyeballs. Or maybe I'm looking too deeply into appearance. It's so hard to tell before I truly meet them at the interviews; all my interjections, while oftentimes correct, are just estimates, possibilities.

TAKAMI WIRED: Now for her, this is not what I wanted. Fuji is the better half of their duo, and I expected her to get at least a 6. She said she did well with her catapult in the Session. That score must mean _something,_ then, with the arena...oh heck. Arenas without trees equal arenas without Outlying Victors.

FUJI LAMAC: O-only a 5?! My catapult worked very well, even better than it did in training. I performed everything to the best of my ability. I won't complain, but a 6 would've been nice, really nice. Now I'll just fade into the background as one of the average ones. And while that's an okay thing, it's not going to work with the angle I was shooting for. Badasses don't earn 5s.

* * *

 _From District Four..._

 _Chavez Belasco with a score of **10**!_

* * *

FABULA OBCUBO: And what a doozy! Unless we have a giant surprise, which I highly doubt, we've found our highest scorer of the night! A 10 isn't insanely, record making high, but it's about as good as you can get after the scoring shift the second year of Ludum's reign as Head Gamemaker, making it harder to earn higher scores. A 10's for the top dogs. And boy, does Chavez look like a dog. I can't wait to see him in the arena, especially if the rumors of a prairie or a tundra are true.

OISIN O'COBB: That's my boy. I knew we picked a good one this year. Four hasn't had such a good chance in a long while.

CHAVEZ BELASCO: Fucking beat Ardin! Fucking beat Trinity! Fucking beat Zircon! Fucking beat Tyberios! And definitely fucking beat Cordelia, I know it! I'd like to see you try to do that, Almieda!

* * *

 _Cordelia Nile with a score of **7**!_

* * *

FABULA OBCUBO: I had no clue what to expect from her; I would have been equally unsurprised to see her score around what she did, or in the 3s and 4s. She's a tricky one, and I like the tricky ones. They're more fun to dissect, and they usually have a mystique to them. I can flex my creative devices with those types.

MAGS FLANAGAN: And the Reaped girl did better than I did during my Session. If only Ondino saw how tight I'm hugging her in happiness; the jokes wouldn't end for years.

CORDELIA NILE: A 7? That's a Career's score. I qualified for the pack, even if I'll be on the bottom. I was worried I'd be heaped in with the 5s and 6s, but I took the top of the 7s. I feel a whole lot better about my position at the moment.

* * *

 _From District Five..._

 _Jayce Newman with a score of **5**!_

* * *

FABULA OBCUBO: His score looks better than he does. I wonder what's wrong with him? Hopefully some food in him fixed that-oh. Terminal illness is noted in his report. The poor guy. He almost looks like he could've had a real chance.

ANNELIESE PETROVA: I high five Jayce enthusiastically. Bernie's ignoring us and watching the whole thing in her bedroom, so he's my only listening tribute at the moment. I'm pouring all of my motivation into him, and a 5 is exactly what I got and our District number. It's my favorite number, for obvious reasons.

JAYCE NEWMAN: That's a good enough score for a low life like me, I guess. I was expecting them to give me like a 1 or something based on my disease, but I guess they looked more into my skills and such and put that aside a little. I'm happy they did; I won't be as much of a joke.

* * *

 _Bernadette Areli with a score of **2**!_

* * *

FABULA OBCUBO: Aww. And we've found our symbol of pity this year, the tribute that the most hideously sinful of Capitolites sponsor to make up for their misgivings and crimes. It's always painful to interview them. At least this one doesn't seem too oblivious or naive.

ANNELIESE PETROVA: The screams and crashes coming from her room can't be good, but I can understand her fury. The poor darling.

BERNIE ARELI: Fuck that! Fuck them all! I...they can't do that! I'm going to be the weakest one besides Carmen, but she didn't even go to her Session! I'm a pathetic joke! I tried, I really did, but does it even matter? This score tells me absolutely, fuckingly no. It's easier to be angry than hopeless.

* * *

 _From District Six..._

 _Fender Hopkins with a score of **6**!_

* * *

FABULA OBCUBO: He's a looker, and he seems to have the full package. Can he deliver it? Ugly puns aside, I don't have much to say about this one. He looks like he could be a total prick, or an awesome boy-next-door trope. I just know he's one or the other. They always are.

CALLA ESPENSON: And for once one of my tributes isn't totally hopeless! Ah, how nice if I could have a friend...but he'd be so boring, he probably would never even touch drugs. But then he could Mentor responsibly, and I wouldn't have to give a fuck about anything! I like this plan.

FENDER HOPKINS: That works. What's better than having the score of my lovely home District? I think I can make this work. I'm starting to truly understand how this all works.

* * *

 _Liberty Miles with a score of **4**!_

* * *

FABULA OBCUBO: She looks like this year's druggie, and a quick glance to her file confirms my suspicions. She is...interesting. Not in a necessarily conventional interesting way. She seems like she's mysterious, but only for a short time. Something intrigues me, however.

CALLA ESPENSON: Even I feel sympathy for this bitch. I never knew she had Torcido's. Now that's a raw deal. No wonder she kept blabbering about stuff I could never understand.

LIBBY MILES: Is...is that 4 even real? Did I even go to Private Sessions? How the fuck did I take morphling after I almost jumped off the balcony on the second night? Did I even almost jump off?! I...I need someone to help me sort through this, before it's too late. I'd rather die with a clear picture of my life than live forever with a foggy image.

* * *

 _From District Seven..._

 _Baron Arbor with a score of **7**!_

* * *

FABULA OBCUBO: This one seemed like another mystery. I'd pegged him for a 5 myself, just out of his look of normalcy despite his unconventional upbringing and entrance into the Games. I should've known better; a person's being always is tightly connected to their beginnings.

OAKES LAINE: Now that's a score I can work with! I'm pleasantly surprised; I'd imagined something a little lower for Baron. Now he'll just have to deal with being a target.

BARON ARBOR: I don't know what to feel about that. It's good, but it's bad. I don't know what to think of many things anymore. I'll just look at it from the good side, and hope the negatives scatter to the wind.

* * *

 _Ivy Cross with a score of **6**!_

* * *

FABULA OBCUBO: She looks as tough as nails. Of course, even nails often bend and weaken under the blow of a hammer. According to her file, this one's survived more than enough hits.

PAULA EUFALU: I don't look at Ivy's score for more than a moment; it's exactly what I knew she'd get. I study her picture. She looks fierce, and I see a glimmer of myself in her narrowed eyes. That makes me bark with laughter. No one wins the Games twice.

IVY CROSS: I bet Harlow Teuscher couldn't do better. That's the first time I've thought of them in days, of the entire world outside of this building, and surprisingly, I'd rather just stay in this building, waiting to die, for the rest of my life, than ever go back there. Well, that's not really surprising, and we've already covered why.

* * *

 _From District Eight..._

 _Calico D'Amboise with a score of **3**!_

* * *

FABULA OBCUBO: I don't even feel pity for this one. He seems like a real prick. His interview will probably become the highlight of my night.

URIAH MATHERTON: Same score as I got, matching in so many ways. I don't admit it, but I felt the same as him. But he has no fucking chance. I took the single miracle that will happen every century. All the other scrawny kids who've never run a mile in their lives are fucked over because of me, and it nags me more than my sour ass minds admitting.

CALICO D'AMBOISE: Fucking bastards. Maybe I should tear up their faces, too, and see what they think of me then.

* * *

 _Gaia Imani with a score of **4**!_

* * *

FABULA OBCUBO: This one looks so serene, so complacent, so quintessentially _good._ And I pity her. I hope she dies in the Bloodbath. It's always so terrorizing to see the good ones' morals rot and decay under the heavy hold of instinctual survival. It shows the very meaning of the Games, dehumanization, and it's frightening. It's easier to live with ourselves when we believe it's truly all just a simple, idiotic Game.

WOOF PARSONS: All the more reason to run, to hide, to leave her alliance. I'm happy she got a 4. It'll instill a better sense of what's she's truly dealing with in her, a better sense of the need for survival at any costs.

GAIA IMANI: Things are never perfect. But could they be a little better than a 4?

* * *

 _From District Nine..._

 _Luke Saturn with a score of **7**!_

* * *

FABULA OBCUBO: Wowza. He looks scary. I can't wait to see the damage he inflicts in the arena. I think we may have found our Outlying villain, or our "Best Pretender" award winner.

UNITY CARDEN: My heart thumps wildly in my chest. None of my tributes have scored higher than a 5 in many years. Luke is my chance. Luke is my coveted chance. I need to bring him home. If I fail at this one...I don't know if I can continue. If I lose Luke, if I destroy yet another glowing hopeful, I will fall apart. And I don't have anyone to pick up the pieces.

LUKE SATURN: Now that's what I like to see.

* * *

 _Saffronelle Alumius with a score of **5**!_

* * *

FABULA OBCUBO: If it weren't for her crazy name, I'd forget her the moment her face fades from the screen, and I probably won't remember her at the end of the broadcast. She has been given a blessing and a curse. We'll see which side of it she utilizes, or if she gets to utilize it at all.

UNITY CARDEN: Now that's more like what I'm used to seeing, but even then, 5s are high for Nine tributes. I commend her, and maybe she might have a shot too, although my efforts will be invested in Luke this time around. You cannot truly be devoutly focused on two tributes to bring one home, I've realized. It's impossible. One must be left in the dust, and that one is Sage.

SAGE ALUMIUS: I didn't expect much better, and for a inner city Nine girl, that's quite an accomplishment. And I've scored the highest in my alliance. I'll be the breadwinner for us, something strange and unexpected. I wonder if I'll be able to handle it well enough...

* * *

 _From District Ten..._

 _Rufus Braunvieh with a score of **5**!_

* * *

FABULA OBCUBO: Even more unmemorable than...Sargonelle? He seems so boring, I hope he faints or something during his interview. The quiet, forgettable ones are always taxing, especially when you have two in a row.

OXEN BAMBY: Commendable. I dunno. Scores don't really matter, right? I just wish they did them in the morning. It's more pleasant to have events occurring when the sunlight is streaming through the windows.

RUFUS BRAUNVIEH: I guess that's what one gets when they skip half of training. Oh well. It was worth it.

* * *

 _Miriam Park with a score of **5**!_

* * *

FABULA OBCUBO: And we have our firecracker! I like her already, from the snarky grin on her face to the dangerous look in her eyes. She reminds myself of a young me. She'll remind everyone of a young them; everyone likes to remember the few and far between instances where they were rebellious, and mold their childhood after that image in their minds. She just might be the one.

OXEN BAMBY: That's nice for her, I guess. Most girls her age don't get anywhere near that. I think I'm going to go sleep now, the Avoxes fixed the lighting in my room. When it went out last night...let's say there were some black eyes and long showers.

MIRIAM PARK: Now that's pretty badass for a thirteen year old. I was hoping to beat Jayce, not just tie him though. Getting a higher score than him would've formed a wellspring of jokes to boost morale in the arena. If only...

* * *

 _From District Eleven..._

 _Omri Plower with a score of **7**!_

* * *

FABULA OBCUBO: He seems nice. High score, cute face, small town upbringing and manners, and a worthy alliance. He has everything going for him, so that's why he's going to lose.

PUMPKIN LITTLE: Yes! Yes! Omri! I can't even form coherent thoughts that well! Just yes! Yes!

OMRI PLOWER: Everyone knows me now. They can never forget me. And it makes me feel sick to my stomach because did I really have to put myself in a killing competition to be known and unforgettable? No. I made a bad choice. Now I'll have to amend for it.

* * *

 _Soya Chaffer with a score of **4**!_

* * *

FABULA OBCUBO: She looks cheery. Like a half full glass of frizzy strawberry wine. I hate strawberry wine.

PUMPKIN LITTLE: Why is she grinning so much at that score? Sometimes I think there's something truly wrong with her.

SOYA CHAFFER: A little low, but underdogs always have the sweetest Victories! They'll never see me coming. No one believes, except Lord and myself. I shall win, and no number will hold me down!

* * *

 _And last but possibly not least, from District Twelve..._

 _Gaylord Parthenia with a score of **6**!_

* * *

FABULA OBCUBO: A Twelve boy that looks like that and scores that high? Boy oh boy, does Twelve have an actual shot this year! It's an unconventional thing to think of!

ERIS GLASSHINE: Oh...ah...um...wait...I have a...a...a good tribute...oh lord. OH LORD! I ACTUALLY HAVE A GOOD TRIBUTE!

LORD PARTHENIA: That's how we do it, boys and girls. Watch and learn.

* * *

 _Carmen Ionique-Astron with a score of **0**!_

* * *

FABULA OBCUBO: That's a first.

ERIS GLASSHINE: Poor girl. She's so out of it, she's not even watching the broadcast with us. Wait. What are those sounds?

CARMEN IONIQUE-ASTRON: My face is shimmering on the screen with a score of 0, but I'm barely paying attention because my sweatpants and the bed linens are soaked. I start to breathe heavily as I wriggle out of my sweatpants and pull off the covers. Holy mother of Snow. My water's broke. My water's broke! I find myself laughing in joy a little, and then I start to groan as it begins. You can do this, Carm. You've done it four times before. Pretend Cape is there, that Aris is there, that everyone that loves you and cares about you is there...push, push, push!

"Is everything alright?!" Eris asks as she bounds into the room.

"The...the baby's coming!" I holler, smiling as I pant.

"THE BABY'S COMING!" Eris shrieks, running out into the living room to alert the others, as if they haven't heard. "THE BABY IS COMING, I REPEAT, THE BABY IS COMING!"

Eris, Edna, and the Avoxes crowd around the bed to watch and comfort me. Lord watches from the doorway, trying not to be too rude, but not wanting to watch a live birth at the age of 16. I understand that. I'm nowhere near done, but I feel so light with all this support, even if it's minimal, around me. Push, push, push. Breathe, breathe, breathe. Your family loves you Carmen. Do this for them.

* * *

 **THE SCORES COMPILED**

0: Carmen

1:

2: Bernie

3: Calico

4: Libby, Gaia, Soya

5: Millard, Fuji, Jayce, Sage, Rufus, Miriam

6: Fender, Ivy, Lord

7: Cordelia, Baron, Luke, Omri

8: Tyberios

9: Zircon, Trinity, Ardin

10: Chavez

11:

12:

* * *

 **A/N: Wow! We're really getting far into this! This was a fun little section to write, and I hope you enjoyed it. Miriam is always a pleasure, and it was nice to get inside all of the Mentors and Tributes' heads for a small blurb, along with exploring Fabula more too. I hope you enjoyed this format, and thanks again to MRKenn for coming up with the idea in her own SYOT and letting me utilize it here.  
**

 **I have a ton of questions XD Were the scores fitting? Any you would change? Why? Do scores even really matter? WHAT ABOUT CARMEN'S BIRTH TELL EVERYTHING YOU FEEL! Will the baby be born alright? Will she survive? What will happen if she does survive? If she doesn't?! DRAMA**

 **(Don't feel obligated to answer all of those XD)**

 **Trivia:**

 **Miriam (1 pt.) - What were the name of her three prep teamers?**

 **Until Next Time,  
**

 **Tracee**


	53. The Fourth Night

**A/N: And so the story continues! We're inching closer and closer to the Games, and while we are close, we still have a little bit of a way to go. Today, we're visiting Lord Parthenia, the District Twelve male tribute, and Calla Espenson, the District Six Mentor, on the fourth night of these Games. I hope you like seeing them! Enjoy!**

 **P.S. one thing I wanted to say about scores. I wasn't necessarily scared to give any Outliers above a 7, I just felt that none of them were up to par with Tyberios and the others to get said scores. I feel like tributes like Thresh and Katniss are anomalies in my personal opinion, and my scoring system is even tougher than the series', as in the series Rue got a 7 just for running around and doing edible plants, which would only earn about a 5 in my SYOT. It's not impossible for an Outlier to get higher than 7; they could score a 12 if they're that good. It's just that only 1 out of every 200 Outliers scores above a 7, so 8s and up are just noted as Career scores most of the time, as that's what they are 99 percent of the time. Just something I wanted to note :)**

 **P.P.S. 750 reviews and counting, you guys are truly glorious!**

 **Also, I have an explanation for why Carmen isn't allowed to be helped with the birth at the bottom. I was gonna put it up here, but it's too much to have that all up here xD This A/N is getting wayy too long.**

 **Trigger warnings: We have ALL the crap today. Profanity, recreational drug use, mentions of porn, almost sex, mentions of rape and abortion. It's not terrible necessarily? But if you're rather sensitive to the darker stuff, tread lightly and maybe skip through these. I can summarize if you wish.**

 **Lord's song is Heaven in Hiding by Halsey, and Calla's song is We Die From It by Brenda Xu. (Sorry for all the Halsey, Hopeless Fountain Kingdom, her sophomore album, came out recently. I've been waiting forever for more work from her, so I'm currently addicted, and all that's really on my mind is Halsey XD)**

* * *

 _And when you start to feel the rush_

 _A crimson headache, aching blush_

 _And you surrender to the touch, you'll know_

 _I can put on a show, I can put on a show_

 _Don't you see what you're finding?_

 _This is Heaven in hiding, oh_

 _And when you start to look at me, a physical fatality_

 _And you surrender to the heat, you'll know_

 _I can put on a show, I can put on a show_

 _Don't you see what you're finding?_

 _This is Heaven in hiding_

 _This is Heaven in hiding, oh_

* * *

 ** _Lord Parthenia, 16_**

 ** _District Twelve Male_**

I retreat to my room for a little after standing in the doorway of Carmen's bedroom for a half hour, just watching but trying not to watch as she groaned softly and the smallest contractions started. It was a little dismaying, and I didn't have any place to be crowding around her bed and getting in anyone's way, but I also felt like it would be disrespectful or something to just stay on the sofa and watch a hilarious Capitolite soap opera to drown out the noises. I've done my time, however, and now I'm alone in my room.

My hands grab onto the remote that will turn on my wall. Yes, my wall. Apparently, it's some sort of giant screen. I'm almost tempted to put on porn and see what their reaction would be. It _would_ drown out the noises. That's a joke by the way. Even I'm not creepy enough to play a video of two people going at it while a woman's giving birth to her baby.

I flip through the scenery on the wall for a few minutes, quickly becoming bored. It's just a picture. There's nothing interesting about this. Sure, someone like that nerdy looking Eight girl is probably having the time of her life, dissecting the differences between the two rainforest scenes, but for someone like me, I need something more substantial to entertain myself. That gives me just the idea.

I walk out of my room and hang on the sides of the door frame, looking around. A skittish looking Avox is cleaning up the dining room table, and I call her over. She bounds over, quivering a little as she looks up at me. The poor, hideous little thing. They must've mutilated her face before they cut out her tongue, too; it's crisscrossed in scars, and her face looks barely human. I put that aside and ask her my question.

"Is there a way to communicate between floors? Like a way for me to contact another tribute?" The Avox hesitantly nods, and she walks away to go get a pen and a pad of paper to write down how to do so. "Also, Ms. Glasshine wants some wine and some bourbon to calm her nerves. Bring it to me, and I'll give it to her."

The Avox gives me a strange look, but she isn't the type to disobey orders even though she knows full well that Eris would never be drinking either wine or bourbon at this time, not to mention both. She's gone for a couple of minutes, and I poorly amuse myself by flipping through the rest of the scenes of the wall screen. When she's back, she waddling as she carries a large bottle of bourbon, a skinny bottle of red wine, and a folded note. I take them all from her with ease. I nestle the bottles of liquor in the pillows of my bed like beloved stuffed animals, and then I unfold the note and follow it's instructions.

Using the remote with the wall screen, I exit the scenery app and scroll through the rows upon rows of other apps until I find one discreetly named "Chattis". I select it, and it pops up. There's a choice to contact dozens of groups of people, and I scroll through until I find the one named "Tributes." I eagerly click on it, and it pops up with the option to contact any tribute. They're labeled with the district and gender of each tribute, as there aren't the same tributes every year obviously. I go down to the Eleven female, and then I click on it. The note says to type in whatever I want, and it'll show up on her wall.

 _DTwelveM: Come to my room. Carmen's giving birth, and everyone's distracted. I need someone to keep me company, baby._

I wait for a couple of minutes, and then I get a reply.

 _DElevenF: Lord how are you doing this?_

 _DTwelveM: My Avox showed me how._

 _DElevenF: You sure it's alright?_

 _DTwelveM: Of course. It's not like we're going to have sex or anything. We're just going to strategize!_

 _DElevenF: Everyone up here's asleep. I'll slip out._

 _DTwelveM: See you in a little, baby._

I turn off the wall screen, smirking. I walk out and grab two unused glass flutes from the dining table. I stash the huge jug of bourbon under my sink; that's for when I get bored at a later date, and I can't get Soya down here. No, I'm treating the lady to her first experience of expensive red wine, and possibly her first experience with...other things. I won't fuck her. I can't bring myself to do that for some reason yet. But there's things besides fucking kids like us can try.

She arrives a couple of minutes later. She's out of her training uniform unlike myself, and is wearing a cute red sweater and a pair of ripped up jeans. She dressed up for the occasion, which is so damn cute, and the way she's blushing as she sits on the edge of my bed is alluring.

"What do you have planned for this evening, sir?" Soya asks, folding her legs and cocking her head at me. She looks so damn innocent, but I see the same desire burning underneath the gloss of her pretty eyes. Everything is pulling me to her, as if she's a siren and I'm a distressed sailor.

"I-I have wine," I answer, and I think that's the first time I've stuttered around a woman in a year or so. I pop of the cork and hand it to Soya. She giggles as I make a show out of pouring the wine into the flutes perched on my bedside table. I hand her one, and I take the other. She delicately takes a sip and spurts it all over the pristine white bedsheets of my bed, gagging and almost spilling her glass. I take it from her, laughing, and I set it down on the bedside table and she wipes everything off of her tongue, trying not to look too strange.

"Alcohol is disgusting," she hacks.

"Alcohol is beautiful," I say, and then I take a measured sip from my glass. "But not as beautiful as you."

"We're not strategizing, are we?" Soya quips, and I can see the glimmer in her eyes growing.

I set down my flute of wine and crawl across the bed to her. She doesn't object as I reach out and brush the tips of my fingers across her left cheek. She's breathing heavily, and before I can make my slow descent to her lips, she smashes her lips against mine and knocks me flat against the bed. Her fingers tear off my training shirt, and I find my fingers hooking around her sweater and tugging it off out of habit. She unclips her bra, and my mouth falls open and she tugs off my pants as I stare at her assets. I'm now just in my underwear, and she's kissing her way down my six pack towards my crotch area. Something inside of me shivers and I roll away.

Soya looks up at me, frightened. "Did I do something wrong?" She glances down and sees my obvious arousal, and she looks confused.

"Umm...the Avox said she didn't have condoms?"

"Oh," Soya mutters, looking disappointed. "Well, there's other stuff we can do."

I don't know if it's just my libido failing because I'm heading off to die sooner than later, or if it's really because the dirty scoundrel inside of me can't bear to deflower such a pure virgin, but I find myself content with just sitting on my bed and making out naked except for our underwear as the wall screen shows a scene of a sunrise over a beautiful vista. It's a better night than I ever pictured, and I find myself feeling cold when Soya's gone.

Of course. I've gone and made myself start to fall in love during a death match. I know I need to nip this in the bud, but I don't know if I can.

* * *

 _oh what if I am this way all my days_

 _oh what if I am this way all of my days_

 _oh mother it's getting a little scary_

 _oh mother it's getting late_

 _oh what is heart_

 _oh I die from it_

 _I die from it_

 _we die from it_

 _we die from it_

 _we die from it_

* * *

 ** _Calla Espenson, 31_**

 ** _District Six Mentor_**

The cigarette in my hand is a normal one. No weed wrapped up in it, no infusions of opioids or amphetamines. Just a normal, damn good cigarette. I take a long draw and watch as the smoke streams from my mouth and floats out across the balcony, fading into the blurry rainbow lights of the inner city's clubs and penthouses. There's something so poetic about smoking. The beauty of the burning embers at the end of the cigarette, the smoke released from a willing mouth, the destruction of a body so pure and so young through the voluntary action of breathing in from the end of a smoldering stick of rolled up tobacco. It's not smoking itself that draws people to it; the same can be said of any vice. No, the beauty and the artistry that blooms from such self destruction at the high point of youth is what leads to addiction, is what leads to dozens of youth piling up in Six's alleyways, cold and overdosed. Beauty is what leads to death.

Libby smokes next to me. We don't talk to each other, we don't look at each other, we don't even really notice each other as we puff clouds of grayish smoke out into the twilight. She's staring at the glittering lights and I'm looking at her for some reason now. My next exhalation of smoke floats around her face, and she blinks sluggishly, turning to me with half lidded eyes. Her lips start to quiver, and she's shaking as she draws the cigarette out of her mouth and breathes out a wobbly cloud of smog. She tries to suck more from the cigarette, but her hands shake too much and it drops to the ground. She keeps acting as if the cigarette is in her hands, taking measured inhales and exhales, moving her hand to and from her face as the tears brim in her eyes.

I poke her on the side of the face with a new cigarette. She turns to me with glazed over eyes. Not glazed over from drugs; I made sure that her room was clear of morphling, and I destroyed what was left of my small stash after she stole it from me. I only keep enough around to overdose intentionally if I get stuck in a dire situation. It fits my lifestyle better than a gun to the head. I've never tasted morphling before, but this girl somehow stole half of mine and got high off her ass after I had to literally drag her back to her room and lock the door after she tried to roll off of the balcony, talking about how she didn't want my drugs.

"What," she grunts, turning to me. Dr. Endell told me that a day after the intake, the head clears somewhat. It takes two weeks for everything to be gone, but by the end of the first week things should be closer to normal than jacked up. And he also told me that it isn't an entirely altered reality; just some details are tweaked, like names and appearances, and a few major events are tossed up and destroyed before being reformed with new events. That's what he said probably happened the night Libby tried to commit suicide and stole my morphling, as she seemed totally shocked to learn that she was on drugs.

I don't get attached to my tributes. It's a simple rule of thumb that any smart Mentor pledges their allegiance to the day before they meet their first pair of mentees. I've already been through enough shit in my life, and I already take too many things to drown stuff out. So I don't need to go through more shit and take more stuff just to try and futilely help a duo of kids who have next to no chance of surviving no matter what I do.

But with Libby, it's a little different for some reason. I can't explain it, but she reminds me of not myself, but of who I could have become. I was on a darker road before the Games. I...I rarely talk about what happened when I was 17. Actually, I've never talked about it. Not a soul left living knows about it. Because I refused to prostitute myself, my sole remaining relative, my mother, was murdered. I was fine with that. She was the one that forced me to have an abortion after I was raped by some random dude at a party in the slums. She was the one who paid the cheap street doctor who mutilated a baby in my body and left me infertile. She was the one who left me cold and empty, along with the rapist, but even then he was drunk off his ass, and so was I, and he thought I was his girlfriend, and I was just too shocked to fight him off. But I was on a dark road. Suicide and drug abuse were rampant in my head, and I remember almost buying morphling a couple of weeks before I got Reaped for the Ninth Hunger Games. Surprising that a death match could actually brighten one's life, but it did rejuvenate my belief in mine. I realized the fragility and sanctity of life, and I wanted to hold onto my own, even if I still do smoke and drink so much every night that I see stars.

I would have become a Libby if the Games hadn't, in a sense, saved me. I'm no fucking patriot, but they did save me. And I wonder if they can do the same for her. And being saved starts with having a Mentor that isn't a total distant bitch who tells you that you're worthless.

"Here's a new cigarette. I'm sorry about how I've been acting, I guess. It's not fair of me." I light the new cigarette off of mine and hand it to her.

"I have my own-" she begins, and then her eyes focus on her empty hand. "Well fuck," she groans, and then accepts the burning weed from my hand. She takes a long drag and then turns to me, more alert and more clear headed than I've seen her since she was Reaped.

"So I'm guessing you want to apologize to clear your mucky consciousness?"

"Libby, I...I want to help, alright? Don't bite the hand of the distant bitch who's finally trying to feed one of her tributes for once."

"So what's your advice?"

Well I guess I never thought about what I would actually say...

"Uh...give me a minute?" I murmur hesitantly.

"Such a loon," Libby sighs, shaking her head and standing. She stamps out her cigarette and heads for the doors. "Bitch can't even mentor after being a Mentor for thirteen years. Get back to me once you read the handbook, Calla." She slides open the doors and drifts inside, closing them behind her. That leaves me sitting outside in the buzzing summer heat, a cigarette hanging out of the corner of my mouth as I realize that I actually have no fucking clue about how to Mentor.

This is going to be interesting, to say the least. Didn't she say something about a handbook? I really hope that's real.

* * *

 **A/N: Wow. These two were a ton of fun to write. I like writing the more nitty gritty sides of characters, and romance is always a ton of fun to write. I hoped you liked this chapter, I'd have to say it's one of my favorites yet probably for some reason, just is really striking a chord with me.**

 **Carmen explanation: The Capitol does not fix any injuries or such that occurred before the Games began. Like the boy with a limp in Katniss's Games; they didn't help him, since his injury was prior to the Games. Since a pregnancy is technically a medical condition, helping Carmen would be breaking that rule, since she got pregnant and gained her condition prior to the Games. That's my explanation, and it's that plus Snow being a sadistic ass.**

 **We're soooo close to 200,000 words! The next update should break us into the third hundred thousand! :D**

 **Thoughts about this chapter? Think Libby will recover enough by the Games? What's up with Lord and Soya?**

 **Trivia:**

 **Lord (1 pt) - What liquor does Lord order from the Avox and hide in the bathroom for a time when he gets bored?**

 **Calla (1 pt) - Which drug does Calla keep around to overdose if she gets stuck in a bad situation?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	54. The Fourth Morning

**A/N: Back again! With my goal to finish this story by the end of the summer, hopefully earlier, I'm churning these out as fast as I can while still maintaining some level of high quality (hopefully!) Today, we have the Fourth Morning of the Pre Games, and we're visiting Gaia Imani, the District Eight Female, along with Oakes Laine, the District Seven Mentor. This update should push us over 200,000 total words! I can't believe we're so far into this! After this chapter, the tributes will be prepping for the interviews! Enjoy your read today, I hope it's a decent one!**

 **Trigger warnings: Profanity**

 **Gaia's song is Burnt Norton (Interlude) by Lana Del Rey, and Oakes's song is Religion by Lana Del Rey.**

* * *

 _What might have been and what has been_

 _Point to one end, which is always present_

 _Footfalls echo in the memory_

 _Down the passage which we did not take_

 _Towards the door we never opened_

 _Into the rose-garden_

* * *

 ** _Gaia Imani, 15_**

 ** _District Eight Female_**

I wake up from a lucid dream. I was sitting in a rose garden, softly petting the velveteen petals and pruning the thorns so they could not hurt me. Originally, I'd lost control of the dream, and it had surged around me, rosebushes shooting out their branches like spiny tentacles, ready to wrap themselves around me and crush me. But I regained dominance and pushed them back, and I sat in a rose garden, smelling the soft, sweet fragrance of the flowers as I stroked their petals and traced the lines of their leaves. It was a patient dream, a complacent one, better than the reckless nightmares that have been plaguing me as of late.

I go through my morning routine rather seamlessly, the events slipping past like the water that gushes from the shower head when I bathe myself. I dry off and walk over to the space in front of my door, where the Avox usually puts my training uniform while I'm asleep. But then I remember that I don't need to wear a training uniform anymore. What do I wear, then? I slide back on the slip I've been given to sleep in and crack open a door. Uriah is the only other one up, and he doesn't notice my door opening, focused on making his face grumpy and sipping his black coffee. A few Avoxes hover around, placing platters of food on the dining table and doing unneeded cleaning to pass the time. I snap my fingers, and the nearest one notices and bounds over obediently.

"Where do I get clothes?" I inquire quietly, and the Avox pushes past me carefully and plods into my room. She shows me a little closet nestled in the corner that I'd neglected to notice. When I open the door, however, it's anything but little.

"Holy mother of Snow," I breathe. Racks of clothing fill the hallway-like space, with anything and everything imaginable, from dresses to cardigans to rompers to jeans. And it's all in my size, I realize when I check the tags of a couple of things. I squeal in delight and start sifting through things, looking for the most beautiful thing to wear, while the Avox watches ruefully from the doorway and drifts off. Poor thing.

Eventually, I settle on a short charcoal gray skirt that ends right above my knees and a floral button up that I tuck in which is predominantly colored with pastel pinks and soft greens. I then select a comfortable pair of charcoal flats and salmon colored socks, and I choose a few sparkly bracelets and a necklace with a pink heart gem pendant on the end. I even grab a pair of blocky black false glasses that completes the outfit. I've never been a vain girl, but I have to admit that I look stylish, if a little unlike myself, as I pose in front of the body sized mirror propped up inside the huge closet. I giggle at some faces I make, and then I tread out into the dining room.

Woof and Calico look up, a little wowed by my transformation. Calico's snazzed up as well; he's not one to miss a chance to dress nicely, as I imagine he had designer clothes back home. He's wearing a dress shirt, slacks, and a tie that make him look pretty dapper, and a set of boots that he lovingly tells me are Vera Gunnar. Woof is sort of dressed up too in his normal, laid back style. And Uriah's as ignorant as ever, not even looking up from the padlet where he's reading the news from once I pull out my chair and sit down.

I pile plenty of food onto my plate, not afraid to stock up on the pastries and sugarcoated fruits. I need to stock up on the fat due to my stick thin frame, and thankfully the best food in the world is available to help plump me up. Now that I don't have to worry about training, I'm tempted to eat myself sick and silly, but I don't go truly overboard. I do have interviews tonight; I don't want to throw up all over Fabula Obcubo while she's asking me what my favorite meal in the Capitol has been so far. Though that would be a memorable joke. She asks me that question, I throw up, and say, "That one!"

Definitely not doing that? Just an idea.

After I'm done eating, I speak up. "So, what's on the agenda for today?"

"Today's interviews, as I'm guessing you know," Woof replies, his voice muffled a little by the food in his mouth.. He finishes chewing the bite of waffle in his mouth before continuing. "They start at nine tonight, and it's around nine in the morning now. I'd like to be talking about interview angle more in depth sometime around two or three, but until then you're free to go and do whatever you want. Fun Floors are open."

"Oh!" I say, smiling. "I'll go there with Carmen, Sage, and Bernie then."

There's a silence. Woof and Uriah awkwardly eye each other while Calico continues to doze through his hearty breakfast, gulping down copious amounts of bacon. Alexandrius is still asleep, enjoying a day where he doesn't have to be up early to wish us well at training and such. I don't mind one of the grumpy members of our crew missing breakfast. Alexandrius is usually hard to deal with, even for someone as docile as myself. The look the Mentors are giving each other are questionable, however. Are they still doubting my choice of allies? I know they're not ideal, but a girl's gotta take what she can take.

"What's wrong?" I inquire kindly.

"Well, um...Carmen's water broke last night," Woof gushes. "Eris sent out a notification to myself, Unity, and Anneliese so we could tell her allies, you and the other two. You can publicize it or anything, it's just so you know she won't be able to attend whatever activities you do today."

"Can I go see her?!" I ask excitedly.

"I guess," Uriah grumbles.

"You should really leave her be-" Woof begins, but I cut him off by jumping to my feet and sprinting across the apartment's open floor plan to the elevator. I slam my palm into the button, and the doors slide open automatically. I step inside.

"Gaia-" Woof starts once again, standing.

I just shout, "Bye! See you guys later!" as the doors of the elevator sweep closed. The elevator ascends rapidly once I've pressed the Twelve button, and the doors slide open to reveal a scene of utter chaos.

Lord is the singular calm spot, placidly eating his cereal at the dining room table with a pensive look on his face. He seems oblivious to the swarming knot of Avoxes and people crowded around the doorway into what I'm assuming is Carmen's room. A few Avoxes run around, trying to redirect people and deliver things that the woman in labor has requested. I jog over to the cluster of people and elbow my way into the room. There's definitely more than have been informed of the birth. I find myself squashed on the outside fringes of the room. I can barely make out a few of Carmen's locks splayed out across one of her pillows, and I can hear her grunts.

There is room cleared around the bed, and I can see two people crouched by the one side. Bernie holds Carmen's hand, looking rather mournful, while Sage watches next to her with fear in her eyes. Their hands are entwined. I kneel beside Sage, and grab her free hand. I look over at Carmen.

"Hello Gaia," Carmen whispers, and then she flinches. "C-contraction."

"Hey," I mutter quietly. "Don't pay attention to me. Just focus on giving birth, Carm."

She nods a little and squeezes her eyes shut as she breathes heavily. Bernie reaches out and wipes some hair out of Carmen's eyes and swipes sweat off of her forehead. Eris gives her a testy look, and Bernie murmurs, "I'm going into the Games," as a simple, broken reply. And then Bernie's eyes light up.

"I've helped cats give birth before," Bernie whispers, her eyes opening wide. "And I'm going into the Games."

"Oh Bernie," I mutter.

"I don't have a chance, and we know it," Bernie sighs. "I can help her. Even if I die...I can help her." People clear from around the bed. Even Sage and I take a step back, and we embrace each other tightly as we watch Bernie crouch between Carmen's spread legs.

"Cat anatomy isn't the same as a human's," Carmen coughs. "You won't be able to do much."

"I'm your best bet, Carm. Any help I can give is good," Bernie states simply, and we all know that she's right. I never knew such a little, broken girl could be so brave.

* * *

 _Everything is fine now_

 _Let sleeping dogs lay_

 _All our minds made up now_

 _All our beds are made_

 _No one's out of time, no_

 _Chips fall wherever they may_

 _Leave it all behind, let the ocean wash it away_

* * *

 _ **Oakes Laine, 36**_

 _ **District Seven Mentor**_

I don't know what else I can do this year. While I am the more experienced Mentor, I am more fatherly. Marrying and having two adorable children does that to you. Paula is icy and sarcastic and cruel in her warped youthfulness, and she is the better Mentor. Usually, no matter the original shuffling of the tributes, the stronger tribute ends up with Paula, and the weaker one drifts over to me for comfort and a tender morale boost.

This year, all four of us are rather confused. The natural order has been disrupted. While Ivy scored a point lower than Baron, their odds are only apart by a single point. Ivy is at the highest level of a 6, while Baron is at the lowest level of a 7. Their skill sets are nearly identical, and they both have personalities and histories that provide various advantages and disadvantages. Baron stays more with me and Ivy more with Paula, but things feel off.

There is always the weaker tribute. It's rare to have two tributes who score above a 5. While it's more common to have two high scorers in a stronger District like Seven, it's still something I struggle to deal with. Baron is looking up to me to give him advice about how to outwit Careers and murder opponents efficiently, and I lack that expertise. While I did survive a Games, I never survived the modern ones. I fought my way through the Games of old, where the inflated scores and the shiny new look of the whole thing covered up the fact that they were actually rather boring. Half of the kids starved, and I only killed three, which is not a lot compared to most of the Victors. Paula offed six alone in the era of the Careers. I never had to run into a Bloodbath where six trained killers were plotting to wipe all of us out, or trick a stronger opponent into a trap. I was that opponent. I was by far the strongest tribute in my year. I was the first tribute to ever score a "10", the equivalent of today's 8. While I can give advice based on what I've watched, I've never lived the modern Games like Paula. I'm almost useless in some respects.

"Please give him some advice," I sigh, sitting at the dining room table. Baron is slouching on the couch, tuned out to the world and watching a movie about real life magicians, enamored with their feats of sleight of hand. Ivy's run off to rendezvous with her alliance on one of the Fun Floors at some breakfast place Pumpkin told Omri about. She was gone by the time I was awake and eating at the table.

"Phfho? Baerohn?" Paula asks through a mouthful of hashed browns.

"Swallow," I instruct with another sigh, and she rolls her eyes and gulps down the food in her mouth.

"I can handle myself, 'Dad'," she snarks before shoveling more food into her mouth. To mock me, she chews with her mouth open and smirks.

"Your immaturity is disgusting sometimes, Paula."

"Your maturity is disturbing sometimes, Oakes."

"I need you to give Baron advice," I cut in, pruning the banter between us short.

"Aren't you capable of that yourself?" she quips quizzically, raising an eyebrow at me as she swallows another forkful of hashed browns.

"I don't have the same experiences as you. You know how to deal with Careers. You killed three! Careers didn't even exist in my time!"

"You've never needed help before," Paula murmurs. "I never realized...are you admitting that I'm the better Mentor!"

I sigh. I often sigh around Paula, if you haven't noticed. "Don't make this about that. I'm just suggesting that your advice, stemming from personal experience, about Careers might help Baron more than the information I can give him, as they never existed in the era I won."

"You always are trying to cover something up when you get all official and intelligent sounding," Paula laughs. "So I am the better Mentor."

"Are you going to make me curse?"

"You are _such_ a father, I can't even. I'll go talk to him." She stands up and lopes across the room, collapsing on the couch next to him. She sits there silently, watching the television with him mindlessly. Her Mentoring strategy is definitely different than mine. I would have eased the TV off and suggested that we go sit on the balcony, and then ask them how they're feeling about the Games. Isn't that what good Mentors do?

Oh hell, I am such a dad.

Oh my gosh. I just cursed, didn't I? I hope my kids- oh wait. I'm in the Capitol.

Yep. Such a dad.

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry if this chapter is crap. Gaia's POV got sort of off-the-rails cliched in some ways but I couldn't think of a way to rewrite it, and I kept Oakes's super duper short because I wanted to get something out today, and he's not that important in the grand scheme of things. Definitely not my best, but I'm saving that for things like the Interview Preparations, which is the next chapter! After that, we have the almighty Interviews themselves, and then the last half dozen or so chapters of the final fun day and the wrap leading to the Games. We're getting a lot closer!**

 **THIS PUSHES US OVER 200,000 I AM SO HAPPY :D We're also on trend to hit over 1,000 reviews by the end of this I think!? :D yes!**

 **What did you think of these two? Thoughts on Bernie and Carmen?**

 **Trivia:**

 **Gaia (1 pt.) - What color is her skirt?**

 **Oakes (1 pt.) - How many tributes did Oakes kill in his Games?**

 **Until Next Time,  
**

 **Tracee**


	55. Before the Interviews

**A/N: Today we're viewing the pre-interview preparations! From discussing interview strategies to getting outfits designed to practicing with Fabula to waiting to go onto the stage for the big night and more, we're going to see these tributes today: Fender Hopkins, District Six Male, Calico D'Amboise, District Eight Male, and Carmen Ionique-Astron, the District Twelve Female! I hope you like this chapter, next up is the INTERVIEWS!**

 **Trigger warnings: Profanity and sexual references**

 **Fender's song is Pills N Potions by Nicki Minaj, Calico's song is Ride (the monologue portion from the music video) by Lana Del Rey, and Carmen's song is the same as Calico's.**

* * *

 _I'mma keep it moving, be classy and graceful_

 _I told 'em it's no friends in the game_

 _You ain't learned that yet_

 _All the bridges you came over, don't burn that yet_

 _Self-righteous, and entitled_

 _But they swearing on the Bible that they love you_

 _When really they're no different from all your rivals_

 _But I still don't wish death on 'em, I just reflect on 'em_

* * *

 _ **Fender Hopkins, 17**_

 _ **District Six Male**_

Calla, Libby, Medusa, and myself walk as a unit of four down the angular, fluorescent-lit hallways. While the training center takes up a majority of the basement of the Tribute Center tower, the rest of the space is taken up by a grid of dozens of corridors. They're lined by storage rooms, offices, and most importantly, the styling center. The swinging doors at the end of this hallway lead into the large hub where I was stripped, waxed, scrubbed, and dressed in a restricting hovercraft pilot's uniform. Memories of the stifling costume and Twinkle's insecure antics aren't the fondest that I have yet from the Games, but I don't really mind the place. It's always abuzz with creative energy and (mostly) hardworking people, which is a refreshing change from how most of the Capitol acts.

Calla elbows into the room, and we all slip inside after her. Avoxes, prep teamers, and other staff bustle about in the central room of the styling center. It is a circular chamber, and fourteen doors line the walls. One is the large set of entrance doors we just came through, a second is the office of the Head Stylist Erasma Busquell, the right hand woman of Odore Ehrmphelt, the Gamemaker in charge of all pre-Games festivities. She told us that when we all arrived here before the chariots. The other twelve doors contain several rooms, and each is for a District. I don't know if they all have the same rooms, but I imagine that they do. The Six one has a design room where the District stylist works, a sitting room for talking about interview angles and such, a cleaning facility for when tributes arrive before the chariots, and then the large prep room where the prep team does hair, makeup, and whatever else is needed for the occasion. The whole complex is much more complicated than I ever imagined. I just always thought they put you in a suit and sent you on your way, but hell, was I wrong.

Once we enter, everyone quickly splinters. Medusa staggers off to the prep room, where the prep teams for Libby and myself lay in wait with their wicked makeup palettes and bristly combs. One of her skinny snakeskin heels has broken off, and she needs to get it fixed. Twinkle comes out of the design studio and keeps her eyes on the floor. She murmurs something and beckons for Libby to follow her, and my District partner does so, looking just as spacey.

That leaves Calla and I standing in the little hallway between all of rooms on the Six wing of the styling center. She breaks the silence with a worn out sigh, and motions me towards one of the doors. I walk complacently after her, and when we walk inside, I'm staring open mouthed.

The entire room looks like it's made out of ice or glass tinted purple. The chairs and sofa are rigid but functional, made out of the smooth, cold substance. A frilly chandelier hangs from the ceiling, and a small fireplace crackles with purple fire. The room is rather small, but breathtaking. When Calla turns on the chandelier, purple light floods the room, seeping through all the translucent objects in the room. It's eerie, but amazing.

"The stylists get to design for their wing of the building," Calla sighs, collapsing into one of the chairs, and immediately wincing as her back hits the hard surface rather roughly. "Twinkle likes the color purple I guess, and being uncomfortable. That's alright. It forces my usually distracted tributes focused for the most part."

I just stand there for a little, continuing to marvel at the room around me.

"So...are you sitting down? This isn't time to learn how to be a home decorator. It's time to learn how to be a good interview giver," Calla hisses.

I quickly sit down on the couch facing the chair that Calla is perched in. I shift around, trying to make myself comfortable, finding that doing so is rather futile honestly. I finally settle for a position that only aches my lower back, better than most, and look up to Calla.

"I think I should go for the good boy angle, right?" I ask, folding my hands in my lap. I really don't know how to sit or act. I've never been alone in a room with Calla, one on one. Her eyes are narrowed and the scrutiny is a little disturbing.

"Well, of course. I'm just going to ask you a question or two and see how you answer," Calla replies with an shaky smile on her face. I can never get a good read on this woman, honestly, and it bothers me. I usually am pretty good at detecting sarcasm, but with her it's either hit or miss. "I...I usually don't even really do this, I just let my tribute fool around and I remind them not to make a total fool of themselves. But my friend Takami compiled the most commonly asked interview questions, so I'll ask you all of them that I can until you have to go into design, and it should help you find your angle, alright?"

"That's great," I say with a beaming grin. I honestly expected much, much less from Calla.

We spend the next hour or so going through rounds of questions. Calla fires them one after another, and I have a continuous smile plastered on my face that never fades or wavers. My tone is always kind and buttery, and I try to keep my posture relaxed and comfortable, but not slouchy and lazy. Calla actually looks a little impressed as we go on and on, and I retain my composure through and through. By the time we're finished, I feel like I have a really good sense of how I need to act onstage tonight in front of the entirety of Panem. Calla gives me a few last tips that she reads off of a piece of paper from Takami. Halfway through it (they're mostly things about how to be calm and not nervous), Twinkle peeks into the room and Libby enters.

"C-can I have Fender now?" Twinkle whimpers, staring at her glittery purple flats.

"Of course," Calla answers softly, and Twinkle may be the only person in the world that I've never seen Calla Espenson get angry at. Libby sits down on the glassy purple sofa, in awe just like I was when I entered, while I exit, following behind Twinkle.

Her design studio is rather homey. Everything is purple, but it is cushy and warm. Twinkle sits down at a purple wooden desk that has dozens of papers on it, scrawled drawings all over it. She's instructed me to sit down on a purple beanbag low to the purple hardwood floor, but I stand after ten minutes and shuffle over to her design table. She's sketching a design for a basic black suit, and she startles when she spots me looking over her beautiful designs.

"You're quite the genius," I murmur, impressed.

"Th-thanks," she stutters, looking at her toes again. "I...I'm not exactly sure what-at to do with y-you...is a black suit okay-ay?"

"I love the colors purple and silver," I tell her with a wide grin, and a small smile fights its way onto her face. Her soft lavender eyes, surgically altered for sure, glitter with ideas.

"Really?"

"Really."

* * *

 _Live fast. Die young. Be wild. And have fun._

 _Who are you?_

 _Are you in touch with all of your darkest fantasies?_

 _Have you created a life for yourself where you can experience them?_

 _I have._

 _I am fucking crazy._

 _But I am free._

* * *

 _ **Calico D'Amboise, 14**_

 _ **District Eight Male**_

I try to keep the snarl off of my face as my prep team clusters around me. Apollonia dusts brown makeup that matches my skin tone exactly across my cheeks expertly, while Kali sweeps her fingers through my curly black hair and tries to tame it somewhat. Meanwhile, my third prep teamer, a rotund man named Terrius, is looking through racks of glasses along with our Stylist, Fashionista. They finally select a glossy black pair that's rather blocky, and they carry it over to me.

"You're putting glasses on me?" I snap, looking at them with a raised eyebrow.

"It'll match the outfit really well. Please just put them on," Fashionista coaxes calmly. The poor woman. She's actually one of the only people that I don't like being rude to, but if I want to wreck the world, I have to wreck everyone. Her nose job annoys me anyway.

"Try me," I hiss, and Fashionista sighs loudly. Terrius does try me, however.

"I'm done with your uppity antics, 'rich boy'," Terrius snarls, and he grabs the glasses out of Fashionista's startled hands. I don't have enough time to move, and he crams the glasses onto my faces, scratching a little through the makeup and squishing them against my face.

"What the fuck!" I scream, tearing off the glasses and throwing them to the floor. I leap from the chair in the prep room towards Terrius, screeching. I land in his arms, and I tear at his face. My fingers hook around one of his lime green ringlets, and I tug off his frivolous wig with a sharp tug. Terrius yells indignantly and throws me off of him, and I land with a dull thud on the ground. I struggle to breathe, the air knocked out of me.

"TERRIUS!" Fashionista screeches. Peacekeepers flood into the room, and everything is a dizzy mess. I hear yelling and shouting and kicking and punching, and I just curl up into a small ball, catching glimpses of blood seeping across the floor and a trio of Peacekeepers dragging an unconscious Terrius out of the room, his nose crooked and bloodied and a huge gash on his face. I struggle to my feet and collapse in the styling chair, panting.

Fashionista is trying to calm Kali and Apollonia, who are clustered in the corner of the room, weeping into each other's shoulders. I'm still dizzy and fazed by everything that's happened, and I'm starting to realize that because I refused to put on a pair of false glasses, a man just got beat almost to edge of his life. He lost his temper because I was a snarky little brat and he probably will end up in prison for the rest of his life.

I hide the smile that's broken out on my face once the girls come over to check if I'm alright. I don't want them sending me to Dr. Endell again to see if I have any screws loose in my head, because I don't. It's just delightful to cause trouble for the people that are putting me into a death match and primping me for it. It's a nasty payback, a sizzling hot dish of revenge, and I like to eat things when they're hot. Revenge cold has never made any sense. When revenge is cold, that means it's been waiting a long while. And when it takes a long time to get revenge, I either get bored or, in this case, I'll be dead before I get to see their pain.

Ah, I'm turning into the little villain, aren't I? Too bad I can't kill anything, or I could be a real fucking antagonist.

Once everyone calms down, we all realize that I'm a total mess. My checkered red and white suitcoat, honestly not that bad for an Eight tribute's interview outfit, is rumpled. I remove it and Kali races off to iron it out. Apollonia hurriedly reapplies my makeup, and Fashionista takes to cleaning off the scuffs on my red dress shoes and fixing the hem on one of my pant legs. They work hurriedly; dress rehearsal is in minutes, and we can't be late.

Kali gets back with the smoothed out suitcoat, and I shrug it on, and then we all race down the hallways and out of the styling center. I quickly fall behind even the overweight Apollonia, who's admitted to eating two banana sundaes for breakfast each morning. Damn me. The lithe, aqua colored Kali grabs my pudgy hand and tugs me along. Soon we're rushing down a set of familiar hallways, and I find myself stumbling out into the tunnel where we got loaded onto our chariots. A row of twelve sleek, shiny black cars, definitely expensive, wait. A frazzled Odore rushes over.

"Where have you been?!" he shouts. "Get Mr. D'Amboise to the car!"

Kali and Apollonia rush me over to my car as Fashionista quickly explains what happened. Odore softens upon hearing about Terrius and the terrorization and the ruined outfit, and soon he's back to his smiling self. Kali opens the door to the car and Apollonia stuffs me inside, and they slam the door shut. Once I'm in and buckled up, the cars in front of us start to move, and soon we're moving too. Gaia sits next to me, looking rather jittery. She's dressed in a nice vivid green dress, and she wears a small crown made out of daisies and lilies. It's actually rather good, and I suddenly feel poorly about my red and white checkered suit.

We don't speak, and the drive isn't long. After around five minutes, the car is parking in a hidden back lot. We climb out, and Peacekeepers immediately surround us and line us up, putting Gaia in front of me. Soon all twenty three of us are in a nice line. I notice that the pregnant Twelve girl isn't here. Oh yeah, she went into labor last night. She still hasn't given birth? That's rather troubling, I guess.

I can hear the screams and cheers from the thousands of Capitolites amassed in the front of the huge building we are behind. They're waiting to enter the auditorium to view the interviews, one of the most exciting nights in Capitolite culture. Everyone wears their best and everyone gets high off their ass. It's a mega party, and whoever can't get a ticket to the real thing goes to the bars and sex clubs and have huge parties. My grandma went to one once when she was visiting the Capitol on government business during Games season. She said they were not to her delicate tastes.

A few people try to sneak around from the front of the massive auditorium with their cameras and notepads to get sneak peeks on what the tributes are wearing, as that's always the topic of conversation in the Capitol. They dissect every bit of us, and it's disgusting to me. Yet it entertains them, and if slashing me about being overweight and rude gives them entertainment, go ahead. If they're entertained, I get to stay alive longer and create more havoc.

The people who try to sneak around get repelled by the Peacekeepers, and one girl fights back, and the Peacekeeper sprays this simple mist from a small bottle on his belt that knocks her out. He carries her back to the front and out of our sight, and then suddenly our line is moving forward as we enter the backstage of the auditorium.

We're walking through seas of officials, crew, Avoxes, and others who are helping prepare for the Interviews. In the utter chaos, a simple path is cleared for the twenty three of us as we process in. We're led out onto the massive stage. I look around at the quarter million seats loaded into the giant building. There are two tiers of thousands upon thousands of seats, and then hundreds of boxes are suspended from the walls, where the wealthiest watch with all the amenities.

Two hot pink chairs, plush and inviting, are situated on the stage, and _the_ Fabula Obcubo sits in one of them. I almost have a fangasm, and then I calm myself down. Sure, she's a great celebrity, but you are inciting havoc. You won't get dragged off the stage, but you are going to make things rather... _difficult..._ for Ms. Obcubo, aren't you Calico?

"Welcome tributes," Fabula says with a stunning smile once we've all gathered around her. "It's very simple. You're going to come out here one by one, I'm going to ask you a stupid question like 'Do you like zucchini or cucumbers more?', and then you're going to go backstage again and wait for the real thing to start. Understood?" We all nod, and Tyberios barks, "Yes m'am!" That makes Fabula chuckle.

We line up backstage, and the first to go out is Trinity. She's back in under twenty seconds, and an Avox leads her to the true entrance, which I've heard from Woof is a tunnel of sorts filled with rainbow lights that gets you even more excited and nervous before the whole thing begins.

Soon enough, it's my turn to walk out. I strut to the best of my ability, and I sit down nicely in the chair across from Fabula, smiling sweetly.

"Hello Mrs. Obcubo. Something tells me we won't get along very well," I murmur.

"You don't scare me," Fabula replies with a similar sickly sweet smile.

"I should," I retort before smiling and marching off without another word. I'd count that as a win, I think. I might actually make a splash tonight. It'll be refreshing to be important here for once.

* * *

 _I once had dreams of becoming a beautiful poet._

 _But upon an unfortunate series of events_

 _I saw those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky_

 _That I wished on o_ _ver and over again, sparkling and broken._

 _But I didn't really mind because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted, and then losing it, to know what true freedom is._

 _When the people I used to know found out what I had been doing, how I'd been living, they asked me why._

 _But there's no use in talking to people who have home_ _._

 _They have no idea what it's like to seek safety in other people._

 _For home to be wherever you lay your head._

* * *

 ** _Carmen Ionique-Astron, 17_**

 ** _District Twelve Female_**

I remember the day of this baby's conception well. Cape and his wife and grown daughter took the kids on a lunch trip to the animal shelter to look and give us some alone time on the day of our anniversary. Aris and I made the most of it, sweating the entire time as we were wrapped together like we were one being underneath the itchy hand sewn sheets. It wasn't anything magical or truly romantic, but with the kids and the turmoil that had been going on in the Seam at that time with a drop in the produce coming in from Eleven, we hadn't had sex in over a month. The break was much needed, and in our haste we had forgotten contraception.

After Bonnie, we both agreed that we at least needed to wait a couple more years to have kids. Three was almost more than we could handle on Aris's sparse salary, and a fourth child wasn't something that we needed nor wanted necessarily. So we'd begun to take the basic precaution measures, yadda yadda yadda. People might assume that since Twelve is run down we don't have condoms, but if a place has bars and strip clubs, it was condoms. And the Seam is rife with such deplorable dens. Most sell them, and it just took one innocuous trip to purchase a box and never visit there again until you ran out six months later. But yeah. We were playing it safe. We wanted to get Cobalt and maybe Aramis old enough to be able to help themselves, around seven or eight, before we continued.

But in the heat of the moment, it was just right, and we both let it happen without saying a word. It felt better, and we didn't bother to mess around with pulling out or whatever the hoodlums do when they're too cheap to buy contraception but don't want to get their girl pregnant. We're married, and what happens happens. A couple of weeks later, I did the basic herbal test that everyone in Twelve uses under the supervision of Cape. And it came back positive.

I wasn't astonished or worried really, but I knew I'd have to start doing other work. I knew how to sing, and sometimes I would go out to bars or birthday parties for the more wealthy and sing a few songs in exchange for a few coins and a warm meal. We had a small jar of coins, saved up for this little baby that is wriggling its way out of my vaginal canal in the most stunningly painful may imaginable. I push through my thoughts of that fateful night, with thoughts of Aris's smiling face, with thoughts of my other kids clustered at my feet. I imagine Bernie's warbling, frightened voice is the firm, warm tone of Cape, and that the fearfully watching Avoxes are excited neighbors and my children. And the concerned looking Eris, kneeling beside me and almost-but-not-quite touching my hand, is Aris. I almost plant a kiss on her lips, but I can't move enough to do so. I'm getting too deep into the dregs of my fantasy.

Suddenly another woman enters the room. My blurry vision recognizes her barely; she's Bernie's Mentor. Suddenly my ally and friend is gone, even though she resists wholeheartedly, and I have to finish this all on my own I guess.

"Please hold my hand," I beg, and Eris nervously agrees with my wishes, tentatively reaching out and wrapping her hand around mine.

The next couple of hours pass in a haze of pain and splintered memories. I swear that I feel like my body is going to give out a couple of times. The ceiling is spinning and I feel so tired, just so tired, and it hurts more than it ever has. My hand is clenching Eris's so hard I bet I'm cutting off the circulation to her fingers, yet she doesn't object although I can see the grimace on her face. I'm too engrossed in the labor to be my nice self and remove my hand from hers or ease up the pressure. If anything, I need to squeeze harder to survive this whole thing and have a healthy baby.

As I know I'm getting closer to the end, Dr. Endell and a few nurses arrive with a cart of medical supplies. I almost start crying, thinking that the law has been lifted or some miracle, and they're here to help me. But they just wait by the wall, and they inform Eris that they're here to check the vitals of the baby once it's born. Once again, they're not allowed to help me I believe. That's just really messed up.

I push and push and push, and then things start to ease a little, and I know it's the end. With one last glorious "umph", I feel my child fully leave my body. I sag back into the pillows, panting heavily. My body is drenched in sweat, and I just want to fall asleep and nap for the next twenty four hours. However, my maternal instinct kicks in, and when I see the plastic gloved Dr. Endell descending to snatch up my baby, I object.

"Give me my baby," I pant, breathing heavily.

"Carmen, we're just going to run a few quick, harmless te-" Dr. Endell begins.

"Give me my _baby_." I reiterate, and Dr. Endell carefully hands over my little baby. Once my little child is in my arms, I dissolve into tears, swaddling it in my arms and hugging it to my chest as I sob quietly. My baby is safe. My baby will live a good life.

"It's a boy," Dr. Endell inserts.

"Hello Filippo," I whisper, tickling the bottom of one of his feet. "I'm your Mommy. We...we might not be together for long, so I want to spend as much time as possible together." I suck in the snot that's dripping down my face, and Eris lends a hand, dabbing away my tears and holding a tissue to my nose, ordering me to blow a couple of times. When I'm cleaned up, I stare at little Filippo, finally at peace, for a long time. Then I hand him over to Dr. Endell. He takes a very quick blood sample and checks a few vitals before leaving, informing me that my baby is perfectly healthy.

"And by the looks of you, I think you should recover at least somewhat by the time the Games arrive," Dr. Endell says cheerily. "Good luck, Carmen, and just call us if you need help with little Filippo."

"This isn't my first rodeo, Doctor," I laugh quietly.

"Good evening, and I'll tell them to pardon you for the interviews," Dr. Endell tells me. "They might come in with a camera to transmit a feed of you to the auditorium. Be prepared, I can't do anything except say that you can't be at the hall physically due to health concerns." I nod in understanding before he leaves the room along with his staff. I sag into the pillows, still holding little Filippo to my chest. He begins to cry a little, and I coo softly, coaxing him back to a calm state.

"You're such a good mother," Eris mutters incredulously. "I'm happy the baby was born before you went into the arena."

"Me too," I whisper, bending my neck down to kiss Filippo's soft little forehead. "Me too."

* * *

 **A/N: That was a roller coaster of a chapter! These three are all stellar characters, and they all have a great network of things built around them! It was totally fun to write this chapter, and it was maybe one of my favorites yet! I hope you liked it! Up next we have the interviews from Fabula's point of view! I haven't decided if I'll do the entire interview for each tribute, or just a snippet. I think just a small piece, because I don't want to have to write 10,000 words for interviews honestly.**

 **So what did you think of Filippo and the birth?! :D Thoughts on all the POVs this chapter? Thoughts on Calico's havoc making and Terrius and all that? XD Who do you think will have the best interviews? The worst interviews?**

 **Trivia:**

 **Fender (1 pt.) - Which of Medusa's articles of clothing needed repairing by the prep team?**

 **Calico (1 pt.) - What color is Terrius's wig?**

 **Carmen (1 pt.) - What gender is her baby?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	56. The Interviews

**A/N: Today we have the interviews! I hope you enjoy reading how things are going for the tributes through the perspective of our observant interviewer, Fabula Obcubo! I hope you like it, as I tried to keep it interesting :) Enjoy!**

 **Note: I didn't use most of the suggestions for interview outfits on the forms. I didn't feel like digging through all the old PMs to look for whatever you guys suggested, and I thought you'd rather me spend my time writing than searching :)**

 **Trigger warnings: Profanity**

 **Fabula's song is We Remain by Christina Aguilera.**

* * *

 _All the ways that you think you know me_

 _All the limits that you figured out, limits that you figured out_

 _Had to learn to keep it all below me_

 _Just to keep from being thrown around, just to keep from being thrown around_

 _Yeah every single time the wind blows_

 _Every single time the wind blows_

 _I see it in your face (Mmm)_

 _In a cold night_

 _There will be no fair fight_

 _There will be no good night_

 _To turn and walk away_ **  
**

* * *

 ** _Fabula Obcubo, 35_**

 ** _Interviewer_**

"Welcome, Panem!" I shout, standing and spreading my arms out, as if I am hugging the nation. I'm in my customary pink pantsuit, and my hair is newly dyed pink and curled. Even though I try not to be vain, I know I look splendid. I stride to the center of the stage, away from the two plush pink chairs and the side table in between that holds an aloe vera plant in a patterned pink pot. The crowd's screams are thunderous, and the smile on my face is in no way forced.

"Tonight, the prestigious Crameus Hall is hosting the interviews of the Twenty Second Annual Hunger Games! The interviews have been held here for the past sixteen years, and I couldn't think of a better venue to truly meet the young shining stars of this year's Games! Each tribute will come out in District order, ladies first as is proper. They will have three minutes to converse with me and show you their personality in hopes of earning your favor! Now, are you ready to meet our first tribute of the night?"

The quarter million people packed into the Hall scream their approval. Thousands of signs sporting the names of different times, and even my own name, sway in the jubilant crowd. Thousands of Avoxes work to tend to those who want food and drink, and government employed bettors walk around the building with trays full of odds and things to bet on, from what will a certain tribute wear to the classic who will be the first to die in the Games. These are my people, even if I hate them outside of this Hall. They are my crowd, and they love me. And then there are the hundreds of cameras mounted throughout every nook and cranny, taping everything on a continuous feed that is played to the Districts with a minute's lag just to edit out any parts that many not be suitable. Time is of the essence, and our first tribute's timer starts as I call out, "Welcome to the stage Trinity Vegas of District One!"

Trinity is a breath taker. She's dressed in a floor length glitzy ballgown in a champagne color. It sparkles under the lights, and it goes well with her white-blonde hair. She wears a slender golden necklace and a few golden bangles. She has diamond earrings in, and her nails are painted glittery gold. Even her eyeshadow is a pale gold color. She has giant golden heels, at least ten inches, and she struts in them without a problem. Her golden hair has been made wavy, and it waterfalls across her shoulders and down her back. She looks magnificent as she sits down.

"Hello, Trinity!" I exclaim. "You're quite the looker, I must admit!"

"Junova knows how to style, am I right?" Trinity replies with a thin smile. "But looks aren't everything, Ms. Obcubo."

"Of course," I reply, grinning. This girl knows how to play the crowd.

Zircon comes out after Trinity. He's dressed in a plum red suit that fits him rather snugly, showing off his slimly muscled physique. His blonde hair is spiked up. He sits down and immediately straightens his (probably purposefully) lopsided tie, grinning. He stretches out his hand and shakes mine, and the jubilant smile on his face is one hundred percent real, no fake enthusiasm here. After we shake hands, I notice a bit of makeup on his face.

"Mr. O'Dile, are you wearing _makeup?_!" I gasp in fake horror, leaning back and lifting a hand to my mouth. The crowd laughs.

"Well, don't we all do it?" Zircon quips. "I'm just looking good for all my fans out there!" A group of teenage girls in the front row scream loudly and loft their menagerie of signs, banners, pennants, and more sporting Zircon's name and face, along with less than clever slogans. Zircon smiles right at them, and I swear one of them actually faints. Ah, Capitolite youth these days. How bright the future looks.

Next is Ardin. She walks out calmly, not strutting or marching or twirling like many Careers do. She just simply walks. She's dressed in a dark green cocktail dress, and her hair is done up in a braided bun. She also is wearing dark green flats and the silvery necklace that all Two Academy volunteers wear as their token at all times. To compliment it, I see that there are small stripes of silver on both her dress and shoes. She looks pretty, but not overwhelming or extremely memorable like many Careers.

"How is the Career alliance faring so far, Ardin?" I ask, actually interested.

"It's splendid. We all get along great, and it's so nice to meet new people." She sounds like an Outlier, not a Career, and it's a little strange.

"Will you give us any hints on who will be leading it this year?" I inquire.

"We'll just have to wait to see, won't we?" she replies through gritted teeth, and I really don't know what to make of that comment.

Tyberios is dressed in the classic black tuxedo, but the arms of the outfit are chopped off so his thickly muscled arms are on display for the entire crowd. I know plenty of people who would pay half of their life's savings to spend a night wrapped up in those bad boys. His silvery Academy necklace rests against his girthy chest, matching the silver buttons of the tight fitting outfit. He sits and grins rabidly at me.

"What's going to be your biggest challenge in the Games?" I question, cocking my head at him and seeing if he dodges by question or answers truthfully.

"Dealing with all of the drama in the Pack!" he jokes. "Nah, we get along fine. I guess the biggest challenge will be dealing with injuries."

 _That's a way of saying it without really saying it._

Our first Outlier walks onto the stage with a firm set mouth. Fuji is dressed in a little black dress. It's cocktail dress style, with black leather hemming and shiny black two inch heels that she manages to walk in well. She has a thick black bracelet around one wrist, and her engagement ring flashes on the other hand. Her hair has been straightened out and it looks very silky and desirable. She sits down and conjures a small smile for the crowd before lapsing back to her passive face.

"You just _have_ to tell us about him," I plead, pointing to her engagement ring.

"Her. I'll tell you about _her_. I'm engaged to a lovely woman named Cartenya Daynes, and I love her so, so much. I'm coming home, baby girl." The crowd goes wild, and I don't need to say anything else. Fuji can handle this process on her own.

Next up is Millard. He's dressed in a beige suit with a dark brown tie. It's not very exciting, but it's different from the usual black tuxedo that a lot of Outlying males end up wearing. His hair is styled nicely, and he looks very official. He sits down gingerly and properly, clasping his hands in his lap and sitting up perfectly straight. He's been raised with money, that's for sure. He smiles kindly at the crowd as we begin.

"What's your favorite thing about home?" I ask.

"The parties. And not the prim and proper ones I go to with my parents. No, the crazy street ones where everyone laughs and dances and I get to make out with my boyfriend." The crowd's reaction isn't as crazy as it was for Fuji, but they still cheer and applaud heavily. My, does the Capitol love LGBTQ tributes.

"Do your parents approve of this mysterious and probably sexy boyfriend?" I inquire, brow raised.

Millard laughs heartily. "Good joke, Fabula."

Cordelia strides out onto the stage. She doesn't look very amused by the outfit that Pufelle has put her in. Because of her short height, Pufelle either thought she would look cute in a giant puffy blue ballgown that makes her look like a cupcake, or she forgot that Cordelia is 17 and a Career and pegged her for a 13 year old Outlier. Either way, Cordelia has two braids and glittery makeup, and is wearing a giant blue dress. She looks very unsatisfied, but she tries to make the most of it, smiling waveringly at me.

"You're the first Reaped girl from District Four in years," I comment. "Are you still in the Career pack?"

"Yeah," Cordelia replies. "I do have some training even if I wasn't set to volunteer, and I also offer some skills that most of the others aren't the greatest at, so they thought it would be good to keep me around."

"Ah. Another record: you're the shortest seventeen year old to ever compete in the Games. What do you have to say about that?"

"Pufelle refused to give me heels," she sighs. Poor girl.

Chavez is the king of the ball as he walks out. I think I know who Pufelle likes more. Chavez is wearing a suitcoat without the arms like Tyberios, showing off his own bulging biceps. He also wears shorts. They're all made in a white fabric that has a colorful pattern of palm trees and surfboards on it. His hair is styled as if he just came out of the water, and he's wearing thick black sunglasses. I can't see his eyes. He marches over to his chair and sits down, smirking at the crowd. Dozens of women and a few men scream his name out loud longingly, and he just pulls down his sunglasses and winks.

"You went for the unconventional approach," I note, looking over his stellar outfit.

"I know how to catch people's attention," Chavez smirks. "How else would I be here tonight?"

 _Ah, hard work_ I murmur to myself in my head, but I keep quiet, letting him continue to play the crowd. I won't bust his roll, and he plays the crowd like a fiddle. It's almost enjoyable to watch the Peacekeepers drag away a lustful lover who lunges for the stage in hopes of touching the almighty Adonis, Chavez Belasco.

The Careers are now all through, and attention starts to wane just a little as Bernie skips out. She has a light smile on her face, but it's obviously forced. She seems simultaneously tired, worried, and annoyed, and it's hard to hide. She's dressed in a puffy orange gown with a skirt that's twice the size of her. She has plentiful amounts of makeup and jewelry on, and she looks rather tacky. I'd have to imagine that Speciallo let her pick out the things herself.

"What's your favorite part of the Capitol so far?" I ask kindly, knowing that questions about strategy and alliances will be useless with her.

"I got to meet my amazing friends and allies, so that's a plus. I also went on my first roller coaster. I nearly threw up!" Some of the crowd giggles at that out of pity mostly. Hey. It wasn't a half bad joke for someone who seems to have given up all hope.

Jayce looks rather dapper in his classic black tuxedo. There isn't much of a twist to it beside the brilliant orange handkerchief in his breast pocket. His hair hasn't been tampered with much, but his face is loaded with skin toned makeup to hide his gaunt features and the dark circles under his eyes from his disease. He collapses in the chair and smiles at me kindly, and I can't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for him.

Before I can speak, Jayce takes the prerogative. "Hello Mom and Dad, and everyone back home. I have a secret I need to share. Only Delilah knows. I went to the health checkup in the booths back home, and I found out that I have a terminal illness. The doctors here don't even have a cure for it. I...I wasn't brave enough to tell you guys when I was home. I was scared, and that was why I became to reckless and carefree, because I wanted to make the most of my last months. I love you, and I hope you know there was nothing you could do."

The Hall is silent, utterly silent, and then people start standing and applauding, and Jayce is biting back tears.

Fuck terminal illnesses. If this boy wasn't doomed to die weeks after getting out of the arena, he could win the whole thing off of pitying sponsors!

District Six is up now. Libby glides onto the stage, moving carefully and slowly as she arrives at her seat. She looks around at her surroundings with a amazed look, although she showed no interest in it when we did our run through. Her angle must be to be enamored with the Capitol. She's dressed in a slim dark purple cocktail dress that looks good on her, and she also wears a pretty pearl necklace. Her hair is curled and teased, and she wears lots of purple makeup. She looks rather pretty and ethereal, mysterious and innocent. It's some of Twinkle's best work yet.

"This place is so beautiful, and the people amaze me every day!" Libby laughs, and some of the crowd hoots its approval.

"Favorite dish here?" I question.

"Oh, it _has_ to be all the pastries. I can't stop eating them, they're just so good! What's your favorite dish?"

This girl has been schooled well. It seems Calla finally decided to put on her Mentoring pants. The Six team seems to have improved this year drastically. I don't even want to imagine what a train wreck Libby would be if she'd been here last year.

Fender is the next tribute out onto the stage, and the last before a brief intermission. His outfit is absolutely radiant! His suit is a dark purple color, a few shades darker than Libby's dress, and it has silver and lavender accents to it that make it look splendid under the lights. It's a new take on the classic suit, and I can see that Twinkle is drawing inspiration from her favorite color this year. Fender flashes a beautiful, pearly white smile when he sits down.

"Your outfit is magnificent tonight!" I exclaim.

"Twinkle is just such a genius, isn't she?" Fender chuckles. "All she needed was a little friendly push in the right direction, and look at what amazing things she accomplished!"

"I bet all of the girls are swooning back home in Six right now!" I remark.

"Well, there's only one girl that I hope is blushing. I never got to tell you, but Demica Trask, you're a great girl, and I'd love to go on a date with you when I come home."

Well that's one way to ask out a girl!

The intermission is about fifteen minutes long. I walk off the stage after Fender exits to the thunderous sound of everyone the building smacking their hands together in excitement. Those not in areas that get Avox service use this time to buy concessions or merchandise and place bets. People also talk to their friends during this period, and some people, the Career lovers, even leave at this point, but most of them stay.

I stride back to my room backstage. It's nice and spacious, and I take the time to unwind and recharge, sipping a cucumber water as two retired Games stylists, named Triala and Penrose, check that all my makeup is still in place. Penrose had just been a minor prep teamer for District 12 for several years before moving on, but Triala had served as the Head Stylist for District Two until Grecia came along and usurped her ten years prior. She'd been the stylist to make Clay, Brick, and Serephina glow like stars, and she is a personal friend.

Once the intermission is over, I'm waiting in the wings, fixed up and comfortable. The Seven thru Twelve interviews are always a little more boring for the most part, but this is a pretty interesting batch compared to many years. Only one Outlier scored above a 6 last year, while we have three 7s in the Lower Districts. I'm actually more than a little nervous, and very excited. The crowd is filtering back into their seats, and once almost everyone is seated, I prance back out onto the stage.

"Welcome back Panem!" I shout, and the crowd ripples with cheers. I find my way to my seat, and then I announce the next tribute to come out. "Let's have a hand for Ivy Cross of District 7!"

The stunning Ivy struts out, grinning. She's dressed in a simple knee-length dress that's white in color. It has a floral design on it, and she's also wearing six inch cream colored heels that she walks in pretty well. Her hair is done up in a messy bun, and her makeup is really nice. She has several silver bracelets on her arms and a skinny silver band on one of her fingers, definitely not her ring finger however. She smiles politely at me, legs crossed, after she sits.

"We've heard rumors that you're in an alliance! Please tell us more about that!" I tell her, grinning.

"The rumors are correct! Millard, Fuji, myself, and Omri have formed a solid group to help advance through the games. Safety in numbers, right?"

"Alliances are always a controversial strategy. I can't wait to see how it works out for you four!"

"I'll tell you all about the experience when I come back here." _This girl has fire._

Baron is the next to emerge from backstage. He waves avidly at the crowd. He's dressed in a form fitting dark green tuxedo that looks pretty good on him. He has a beaming smile on his face, and his dark green leather shoes are shined impeccably. He's spotless. While Glitzya may struggle with parade outfits, she always hits it out of the park with classical interview outfits, and Baron's is no different.

"So, why were you on death row?" I inquire. "It's a question that's been plaguing all of us; you seem like such a nice guy!"

"There's this group in Seven called the Coven. It's basically just a group of people who mess around with card tricks and herbal medicines. However, the Peacekeepers in our District think that we're some sort of rebellious group, and they banned all of our actions so we have to meet secretly. I was caught with some of the things we use in our harmless magic tricks and they put me on death row."

"Ouch! That hurts!" I quickly speed past that. I didn't realize that he was in a rebellious gang, even if it might be "rebellious" and not _rebellious_. Snow will never let the poor bud win.

Gaia twirls forth onto the stage after Baron departs, her skirt spinning around her. She's dressed in a bright green dress with a frilly skirt, but not puffy and all encompassing like the skirts of Cordelia and Bernie. She has a small coronet on her heard woven from fresh lilies and daisies, and she looks pretty good and cute. She also wears light green flats and her eye shadow is dark green. Her earrings look like little daisies. It's not exactly the thing you'd expect from an Eight tribute, but I guess the girl loves the earth. She waltzes over to her chair and sits down, beaming.

"So, I'm guessing you love plants?" I ask.

"Oh yeah! Botany has always fascinated me, you know? If I didn't live in Eight, where botany pretty much doesn't exist, I would be a botanist. I don't know, nature has always been a love of mine. I guess growing up in an urban area makes you crave the natural beauty of the world."

"You don't have many parks in Eight?"

"We have some, but nowhere near enough!"

Gaia's District partner plods out next, and I have to force a smile as Calico treks over to his seat. He's dressed in a checkered red and white suit. While original, he looks more like a picnic tablecloth than a young man at a fashionable event. This boy tried to intimidate me earlier, and he does so again, smiling snarkily at me as he crosses his legs and drums his fingers on the arms of the chair. His hair looks too frizzy, and I hate the watch that Fashionista put on his wrist.

"What's your favorite color?" I ask, determined to make his interview miserable.

"I don't really have a favorite color, but I do have a least favorite. I've never cared for pink. It seems rather garish and childish. Don't you agree?"

The little conniving devil. If I could boot him to the moon...

District Nine is full of surprises this year, with two seemingly capable tributes. Saffronelle is the first to come out. She's dressed in a simple baby blue dress with silvery thread on the hemming and such. She wears a silvery headband and several silver bangles, and large silver star earrings. She looks rather pretty, and it takes me minute to realize that the outfit is a near recreation of one of her little sister Rini's photo shoots. Some of the crowd recognizes the outfit, and they hoot and holler in excitement as Saffronelle sits down, smiling.

"Saffronelle, has Rini taught you anything about how to appear to the public?"

"Please, call me Sage. It's what all my friends call me." That sends a ripple of oohs and aahs through the crowd. "And yes, of course. I pick her up from all the shoots, since she does them exclusively in Nine, and I always take some funny pictures with her."

"How cute! Also, there's rumors that you're in an alliance with a few other girls this year. Is that true?"

"Yeah, I've found a nice group of girls. Gaia, Bernie, and Carmen have all been great to hang out with. I wish the fun would never have to end."

 _Well, I'm sorry honey, but it is a killing competition. It shouldn't be fun at all for those competing._

Luke strides confidently out of the tunnel where the others yet to have an interview are still waiting patiently. He's dressed in a simple tuxedo, and it's charcoal in color. Different from the traditional black, but close enough that his outfit isn't very memorable, even if the young man inside of it is one of the newest crushes of the Capitol at large. The silent, mysterious Luke Saturn doesn't even smile when he sits down across from me.

"What's your strategy for these Games, Luke?"

"I'd like to keep that a secret, m'am."

"You're full of secrets and intrigue, aren't you?"

"Yes, m'am."

"You're not going to give me anything, are you?"

"Yes, m'am."

The crowd is starting to get a little bored. While there haven't been any horrendous interviews yet, and I actually doubt that there will be any horrendous ones at all, there aren't any flashy Careers. It's just Outliers, and their attention is starting to drift. That's why it's perfect timing for Miriam Park to storm out in her maroon pantsuit, hands on her hips and her head tilted towards the sky. She clicks forward in three inch maroon heels, and her hair is straightened out with a red streak in it. Everyone perks up as the girl sits down across from me, looking quite similar to me.

"Is someone copying my style?" I joke.

"You wish," Miriam laughs, and the following minutes are filled with a banter so sarcastic and hilarious that I know I will be rewatching on a later date. Oh, I love the snappy ones. They remind me of when I was a little girl, dissing everyone in sight. Ah, the nubile sarcasm of youth. How I miss it.

Rufus is the next one out. He's in a black tuxedo, the classic mainstay, with a bright red tie and handkerchief that clash a little with the rest of the outfit. The look on his face is dull, his outfit would be dull if it was not for the startling burst of color around his neck, and I don't expect his interview to be anything but dull. He sits down and he has pretty good posture, and I have hope. He's sweating profusely though. He's nervous, more so than everyone else thus far. I'm surprised that we haven't had any major cases of stage fright yet.

"Which station did you like best in training?"

"I-I enjoy-joyed l-learning about ed-ed-ed-edible pla-plants," he stutters out, sweating buckets. I'm sure that the chair cushion is going to be soaked through with sweat. Oh Snow. Usually it's only the young ones who soil the furniture.

Soya prances out in her eight inch heels, staggering around and trying to make it look as if her disjointed walking is some crazy type of dance. She's beaming, as she perpetually is, and she's bursting with energy and nerves. Her report confirmed that she is not ADHD, yet she seems like she's ready to go run a marathon and then have a nice chat with her bestie Happy Gal without even breaking a sweat. She's in a brilliant hot pink cocktail dress, so at least she's smart and knows pink is the supreme color. She has golden hoop earrings in and her heels are golden. She teeters over to her seat and falls into it unceremoniously. She laughs along with the crowd.

"You seem to be rather clumsy!" I note, trying to hide my tone.

"I just getting really clumsy when I'm nervous for some reason," Soya giggles. "My joints just turn to putty, and I can't even walk straight! And these heels don't help at all! I bet the Peacekeepers think I'm drunk or something! Hehehehe!"

 _Note: have the Peacekeepers check if Soya is drunk after the interviews. Note 2: We already know she isn't, this is just for precaution!_

The man of the night follows Soya. Omri Plower walks out normally, dressed in a dark brown suit that looks very good on him. He grins widely at the crowd. His afro has been cropped a little and tamed down more so than it was at the parade, and the watch he's wearing matches his outfit very well. His shiny brown shoes might have worked better matte, but beside that his outfit is rather good. Oh I forgot. Ygga and Alehenia got back together, so now she's churning out outfits at her normal level of expertise, which is a good thing to see.

"I must say, Omri, it's a pleasure to meet you. How did you manage such a high score?" I inquire.

"Let me just say that one gets bored just sitting in class and working in the fields all day," Omri replies with an easygoing grin on his face. He seems very nervous, but his interview is going well.

"Well, whatever you did worked!"

"I hope it works in the arena, too."

This is the part where Carmen is supposed to enter, but then I remember that she's holed up in her bed, recovering from her birth.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Carmen Ionique-Astron could not be with us physically today. She went into labor last night, and she is still recovering! Her baby has been born and it is a healthy little baby boy. We do have one of our staff in the District Twelve apartment, however, and I'm just going to have him ask one question for us so we can get a look at Carmen! Caesar, you're on!"

The huge screen that fell from the ceiling where the Games recaps were watching during the Coronation Ceremony had been pulled down, and a live feed from Twelve's floor was played. One of my underlings, a young, young 18 year old man named Caesar Flickerman, smiles at the camera.

"Here we are in Carmen's room!" he exclaims. The camera turns to where Carmen lays in the bed, holding her baby to her chest. She wears a ratty pair of sweatpants and a light blue t-shirt, and there isn't a hint of makeup on her face. Guess she didn't have enough time or energy to dress up. She smiles weakly at the cameras. "Hello Carmen! So, we have a single question for you. What's the baby's name?"

"Filippo!" she chuckles, and she turns to baby's face to the cameras for a second before sheltering his face once more from the bright lights. He's so cute! The entire audience awws and oohs, and then the feed is cut.

Lord is the last tribute to come out. He's dressed down for the occasion, wearing a pair of khakis and a cornflower blue collared dress shirt. The sleeves on the dress shirt is rolled up to expose his muscular arms, and he smiles dangerously as he struts over to the two chairs in the center of the stage. I have to admit that he looks very handsome, and I can't get enough of him. He does a quick flex for the crowd and then sits down in his chair, laughing loudly.

"So, Lord, use three words to describe you."

"Sexy, romantic, and definitely going to go rock the Games and win them!"

"That's more than three words!"

"Well, then I'll add hyphens for the last part. Definitely hyphen going hyphen to hyphen go hyphen rock hyphen the hyphen Games hyphen and hyphen win hyphen them. Happy?"

"Very."

Once Lord departs, I turn to the crowd. That was a really great interviews. No major mess ups besides Rufus, bet even that wasn't terrible. "Thank you for watching Panem! That was the interviews with the tributes of the Twenty Second Annual Hunger Games! Have a good evening, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

* * *

 **A/N: That was fun to write! I decided to go the middle road: not too long, but not too short, and I hope it worked out well! I love writing from Fabula's POV, and describing the outfits is a ton of fun. That's probably why I made them almost all good, and why the interviews all turned out good XD It just didn't seem to work to have any trainwrecks for some reason. After this, we have the Night and Morning, then the Fun Day, and then the Last Night and Last Morning, and then we're off to Into the Tubes and the countdown! We're getting really close, and this was one of the last major milemarkers! Fun Day, Last Night, and Last Morning are all going to be pretty sizable chapters, but we should be in the arena in not too long at all!**

 **What did you think about this? I don't have any specific questions, just share your thoughts!**

 **I liked bringing back Penrose and Triala from Oceanside. Penrose was a very minor character, but Triala had some airtime and I always wondered what happened to her since Grecia is now Two's stylist, and this is what I decided! :D**

 **Trivia:**

 **Fabula (1 pt.) - What color was Sage's dress?**

 **P.S. I have a note from Fracas!**

 _ **Dear Readers,**_

 _ **Hello, it is I, the almighty Fracas! After my "outburst" at the interviews of the Tenth Hunger Games, I was banned from coming to the interviews for life! It is one of the most agonizing things ever! However, I have learned to deal with it, and I happily root for the District Four Females from my couch! I just wanted you to know that I have not given up the crusade for District Four Female Victories every year! BECAUSE IT MUST HAPPEN! Use all your little points to help Cordelia, because, well, umm...she's a Four Female.**_

 _ **Sincerely,**_

 _ **Sir Fracas the Almighty**_

 **(I'm so, so sorry, I just had to XD)**

 **Until Next Time**

 **Tracee**


	57. The Fifth Night

**A/N: Interviews are over, but we still have several chapters left to fit in all of the other tributes that haven't had their second Pre-Games POVs! Half of them will be three or four POVs, while the others will be shorter. Today, it's the fifth night and the aftermath of the interviews. We're visiting Baron Arbor, the District Seven Male, and Unity Carden, Mentor of District Nine. Enjoy your read! :D**

 **Trigger Warnings: Profanity**

 **Baron's song is Magic by Coldplay and Unity's song is Fix You by Coldplay.**

* * *

 _And if you were to ask me_

 _After all that we've been through_

 _Still believe in magic?_

 _Oh yes I do_

 _Oh yes I do_

 _Yes I do_

 _Oh yes I do_

 _Of course I do_

* * *

 ** _Baron Arbor, 16_**

 ** _District Seven Male_**

I don't know what the fuck I've just done, but I'm curled up in the backseat of the black car that's carrying us back to the Tribute Center, shaking uncontrollably. My suit is going to be crumpled beyond belief, but I don't care at this point. I...I just can't believe what I said on live television, in front of the entire nation. Yes, I stood up for the Coven. I showed that we are nice people. But I reminded them all that I am branded a rebel by the government, even if the ruling is utter bullshit. And with reminding everyone that I am technically a rebel, I have most likely incurred the wrath of Snow. I realize now that I didn't have a chance even before I was a little underhandedly snarky towards the government at the Interviews. I was doomed the second the Mayor found Rowan's tarot cards, and I told him that they were mine. At least I did something good; I saved Rowan. But in the process, I inexplicably killed myself, and I'm just starting to understand that for the first time.

"You alright?" Ivy asks gingerly. "You should sit up, look nice. There'll probably be reporters when we're unloading, and you want to look nice for them."

"Yeah, you're right," I sigh. I breathe out shakily, and then I straighten, trying to rub out as many creases as I can. While I could easily lay down and die, giving up and falling off my platform at the start, I'm not doing that to myself. I may be pretty much doomed to die in the arena, but if I can make people see the Coven in a new light, if I can make people understand that we're just peaceful people living out our traditions, then it will be worth it.

Ivy's prediction is correct. Once the cars pulls to a stop, paparazzi are basically pulling open the car door and grabbing us, shoving microphones in our faces and asking us question. There is so much noise and so much commotion that I can't pick apart any individual questions. Peacekeepers elbow their way through the swarming mass of reporters, and a loud boom goes off. Everything is silent, and Odore's voice comes across the speakers.

"This tunnel is a prohibited area for non-Games staff enter. You may face a month to six months in prison or limits to your lifestyle if you do not vacate the premises within the next two minutes," Odore informs sternly, and it's as if all of the reporters have strings attached to them, and whoever is controlled them just jerked them out of the area as quickly as they could. The paparazzi scatters except for a few bold souls who ask a few clear questions and leave just before the time limit is up. One woman stays a few seconds late and is dragged away groaning by two Peacekeepers.

"It wasn't that bad this year," one of the Peacekeepers remarks to another as they escort us into the building.

"Excuse me sir, you mean to say that that wasn't bad?" I insert, surprised.

"Oh yeah. Last year, there were so many that the tributes couldn't open the car doors, and when they did, a few of the smaller ones actually got trampled. The One girl also lost her wig and ran into the building screaming bloody murder. It was pretty comical to watch," the Peacekeeper laughs. "Okay kids, here you are. Go enjoy your last day or so before the arena. You two seem like you'll do good. May the odds be ever in your favor."

"Thanks!" Ivy shouts before the door closes behind us. We don't speak as we walk together down the halls to the elevator along with a mass of other tributes. Ivy drifts off to talk to the Three boy who is walking a few paces behind us, and I find myself plodding along alone until we hit the elevator. I squeeze in with the tributes with Five, Six, Eight, and the female from Nine. The only people talking are the females from Eight and Nine, who chatter happily. We pause at floors Five and Six to unload their tibutes, and then we're at my floor. I stumble out and collapse on the couch, where Paula, Oakes, and Razzle all wait.

We don't talk really until Ivy gets dropped off around two minutes later. Once she's sat as well, we begin the conversation.

"You two looked nice!" Razzle squeaks, grinning widely. "They loved your outfits."

"You both stuck to your angles pretty well," Oakes notes with a small smile.

"Well, except for your little quip, Baron," Paula grunts. Oakes shushes her, but I speak over him.

"Yeah, I pretty much fucked myself over," I groan.

"Language," Oakes moans. "And no, you did not. You're obviously not a real rebel. Snow will still give you a chance."

"You don't need to give me false hopes, Oakes. I can take it like a man," I reply stolidly.

"Really. You have a shot," he tells me. "I'm not kidding around."

"You're pretty fucked," Paula murmurs as she looks over her nails.

"Thank you," I tell Paula. "I appreciate your honesty. I volunteered for this expecting to die either way. Just be straight up with me, Oakes."

"You have some shot," Oakes sighs. "Stick to your guns, and act like the Capitol is the bestest thing ever, and he might let you win."

"You seem nice enough to be able to bullshit your way through a Games," Paula muses. "One off comment though, and you're fucked."

"Can we please stop using that word?" Oakes sighs.

"Oh, and Ivy you did great," Paula inserts. "We already know there's nothing we need to fix with you."

"Oh, so I'm Miss Perfect know?" Ivy quips. "Goodnight." She storms off, offended for whatever reason by the comment, and I just lay down on the couch. The Mentors and Razzle eventually drift away, leaving me there. An Avox crawls over to me and pokes me on the shoulder gently, cocking its head to ask if I want anything.

"D-do you have tarot cards?" I inquire. It looks at me, confused, and I write down what I want on a scrap of paper that it offers to me. It still doesn't seem to know what they are, but it plods off to go find out and bring them to me. It should be fun to amuse myself with the object of my downfall. I want to get a reading of my future.

The Avox eventually delivers what I've requested, and even though they're flimsy and the stack probably isn't complete, I deal them anyway. I pull them out the way Grandma Circe taught me from an early age, and once they're all out I read them, interpreting their meaning. I start to breathe heavily as I fully understand the reading that I've just performed.

"Well fuck," I hiss. It doesn't look like Snow's going to be on my side much at all.

* * *

 _Lights will guide you home_

 _And ignite your bones_

 _And I will try to fix you_

 _And high up above or down below_

 _When you're too in love to let it go_

 _But if you never try you'll never know_

 _Just what you're worth_

* * *

 ** _Unity Carden, 40_**

 ** _District Nine Mentor_**

Sage and I sit in my Mentor suite. Luke and Patrisa are long asleep, and it was just us left, sitting on the couch and watching old romcoms and laughing our butts off. Eventually the romcoms were getting boring, and I suggested that she should go get some good rest; she didn't want to be tired for the Games. At that moment, she broke down into a fit of tears, and I carried her back to her room, and now we're sitting on my bed.

Sage's tears are starting to subside, and she's sniffling weakly. I have her clutched tight to my chest, and I'm fighting back tears of my own. The poor, poor girl. She's been acting so strong, and she's going to be the leader of her alliance in a death match. It's too much for her to handle, and she's a mess. I rock her slowly in my arms, brushing one of her reddish locks out of her eyes. I wipe the tears from her pale skinned, heavily freckled face. She looks up at me, and she curls up in my arms. The last tremors from her weeping fade away, and we're just laying on my bed, Sage folded in my arms.

"Th-thanks," she whispers, nuzzling into my chest. "I...needed that."

"That's alright," I murmur. "You've lasted longer than most of my tributes do, and it's healthy to let your emotions out. Is there anything you want to talk about?"

"I guess this is my last chance to explore my feelings before the Games. And I probably won't be coming back, so I better figure out all my angst before then."

"Don't say that, Sage. You're going to try your hardest."

"My hardest has never been enough..." she trails off. "On that stage tonight, they just asked me about Rini for two and a half of the three minutes, and then Fabula squeezed in a question about my alliance. Cravat even dressed me up to look like Rini. I love my sister, but they might as damn well name me Rini too and send me into the arena. I know my angle is being the famous Rini Alumius's big sister, but it's always been about her. I feel like shit saying it, but sometimes I wish that we could just be a normal family struggling to feed ourselves. I wish I wasn't just _her_ sister."

"That's not wrong," I murmur. "It happens a lot, and it sucks. It's hard to remove jealousy."

"It's not even jealousy, really," Sage tells me. "I don't want to be Rini. I don't want to be famous. I just want us to be a normal family."

"You're never normal after this," I whisper quietly, stroking her hair. We lay there in silence for a while longer, no parts of our bodies moving except the gentle rise and fall of our chests as we breathe in and out. She looks up at me.

"Do you hate being a Mentor?" she inquires softly, her voice barely audible. "It's okay if you do."

"I...I don't hate it. I like helping people. I was fiery when I was younger, but this job and age have mellowed me out. It just hurts a lot to see tributes die year after year. I've known every single one of Nine's tributes personally, either Mentoring them, being allies with them in my own Games, or being myself. It's just a rough road, I guess. I don't hate it. But I don't love it either. You just wish things could be...normal."

"Normal," Sage murmurs. "We all try so hard to be different from one another, but when it comes down to it, we just all want to be the same."

"There's a strange comfort in normalcy," I breathe.

"There's a strange comfort in talking to you. Thanks," she mutters. "I'm tired. I should go to bed probably."

"Don't be afraid to come back if you need to talk to someone!" I shout as she walks out the door. She smiles at me, and turns out the light before opening the door and walking out. The door drifts closed behind her, clicking into place softly.

I lay there in the blue-black dark, staring at the invisible ceiling, a churning feeling dominating my gut. I roll out of the bed and crawl to the bathroom. I kneel in front of the toilet, and I throw up, hacking up my meager dinner and a load of bile. When I'm done, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and wash my hands in the sink. Then I stagger back to my bed, burying myself under the covers.

I'm not sick physically. I'm sick emotionally. Poor Sage. She really doesn't stand much of a chance. I know I'm going to see her die in the coming weeks, same with Luke, and I'm not prepared. I'm never prepared. But I can never take it upon myself to be like Calla, Pumpkin, and most of the others, distancing myself and avoiding the hurt that comes when my tributes inevitably die. That's just not who I am.

* * *

 **A/N: This one was a little short, but I wanted to get something out today, and since I'll be gone all night, I needed to get it out fast! I hoped you liked these looks at Baron and Unity, and they were pretty fun to write! We have 6 more chapters until the Games: Fifth Morning, Fun Day, Last Night, Last Morning, Into the Tubes, and the Countdown!**

 **What did you think of these two? If you had to pick one tribute, who do you think will be the runner up in the Games?**

 **Trivia:**

 **Baron (1 pt.) - What did the One Female lost last year when she was leaving the car after the interviews?**

 **Unity (1 pt.) - Finish the Unity quote: "There's a strange comfort in _."**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	58. The Fifth Morning

**A/N: We're inching closer and closer to the Games! 5 chapters left after this one I believe! I'm so dearly sorry about the wait. Summer has taken me away to lala land and I haven't done much of anything, but with cross country and band practices starting within the week, I'm finally getting my butt into gear. Today we're visiting two Mentors whose POVs will be heavily focused on their tributes. They are Scylas Ondino of District Two and Eris Glasshine of District Twelve. Please enjoy! :D**

 **Trigger warnings: Profanity**

 **Eris's song is Our Own House by MisterWives, while Scylas's song is Broken Clocks by SZA.**

* * *

 _Came in like the breeze,_

 _I felt it in my knees_

 _Never will it leave_

 _Each day it is retrieved_

 _Seems like yesterday_

 _Your eyes craved this way_

 _Into my soul you stared_

 _And bored down every fear_

* * *

 ** _Eris Glasshine, 24_**

 ** _District Twelve Mentor_**

My eyelids are heavy with tiredness as I croon over little Filippo. Carmen was sleepy beyond belief and passed out several hours ago, so I took the baby from his slumbering mother just to make sure he was doing alright. The boy mewls occasionally but does little else, mostly napping or curling himself up in my arms. I'm seated in one of the chairs at the dining room table, and it's mostly dark, with a few streaks of dawn flickering over the horizon. No one else is up yet. The only noises are my breathing, the on and off soft noises from the baby, and the far off clatter of the Avoxes preparing the day's breakfast spread.

Soon enough Filippo falls into another bout of deep slumber, and I tentatively pull up the holo news report, slowly leaning forward across the dining room table to press the button that releases the hologram. Clutching Filippo tight to my chest with one arm, I swipe through the pages until I get to the front page. I have my preferences shifted to show politics and movies first, so I have to bypass those to hit the rest of the paper in chronological order.

The headlines, as expected, are Games related. Several links to articles further in the report are about political shenanigans, but the rest of it is about the Games. They have the beginnings of two summaries of the interviews from two different writers for those unable to watch last night, which is exactly no one in the nation, or anyone who wants to relive them. There's also a box containing the odds for each tribute and how they're rising or falling based on betting, and how the betting odds compare to the odds given by the Gamemakers. The biggest title on the page, however, is the one I knew would be there. It reads:

 ** _PREGNANT TRIBUTE GIVES BIRTH TO BABY BOY: AN ARTICLE BY JUBILEE LAUDS._**

I scan through the article. It's pretty routine for something of this nature, and I'm happy about it. If this report was a tabloid like most of the others, they would be discussing crazy hypotheses and things about the baby and Carmen that have no basis in truth. This article however is very short for an article to be fully on the front page, and details are limited. Jubilee is usually a much better writer than this. That tips me off that something is not quite right, but it's still to early to look too deep into things.

Over the next hour, the sun starts to truly rise. An Avox delivers me a coffee with two sugars and cream, the way I like it, while the others lay out the breakfast options. Soon after they do that, Carmen is the first to emerge, still looking tired but a little worried, probably because Filippo wasn't in her arms when she awoke. She spots her bundle of joy wrapped in my arms, and she visibly relaxes.

"I was worried that they had already come to take him," Carmen whispers, and she takes her infant son from me and swaddles him close. He begins to kick happily upon entering his mother's arms, and she goes back to her room for a little to do something, probably to either nurse or go to the bathroom. Carmen peeks out a minute or two later, and an Avox scuttles over. She asks for diapers, and the Avox gets them in no time. Carmen is back out in a minute or so, Filippo outfitted in a new cloth diaper.

I almost make a remark about how good she is at this for being a seventeen year old mother, but then I remember she already, crazily, has three other kids. I knew things were rough, and people start families very early in Twelve in case they won't be around long, but Carmen started _early_ early. I don't really judge, and it's interesting that the father is still around and invested in the family. At least there's hope for them.

"I wanted to talk to you about something," Carmen sighs. She swallows heavily and looks up at me. "I...we know that I'm not making it back. I'll try my darnedest, but we both know that even if I'd showed up without the baby, I probably would've only scored a 3 or 4. This isn't going to be easy, and my allies aren't going to help me much. They'll just mostly hinder me. I know I should probably leave them, but they're so nice-"

"You want me to know if I'll take care of your family as much as I can if you don't make it out," I finish gently, cutting off her anxious rambling. "You know I have it covered Carmen. Just relax, and enjoy your day with Filippo. If you need anything, I'm right here."

Carmen smiles at me, tears shimmering in her eyes, but they recede. She looks as if she wants to hug me, but she has to keep her hands on Filippo. So she just grins wider and nods her head in wordless thanks, too grateful to put together a sane sentence in thanks. I get it. She gets up after eating some croissants and slices of peach, walking out to the balcony. One of the Avoxes opens the door for her, and she strides out onto the balcony, disappearing from my view to go sit in one of the seats outside. I turn back to see that my holo report has faded, and I grab a piece of bacon, nibbling at it.

I'm not worried about supporting Carmen's family, at least for a time. I may not be rich by Capitol standards, but I have more than enough money, and I don't spend most of it on the endless froufrou clothing and makeup since I have a more District-like look. What I'm worried about is the promises that will stack up, the years and years of watching more kids die and having to give money to more families to ease the spirits of the tributes I failed. I already send enough money to the families of all my dead tributes to keep each family fed out of custom. While one family was too proud to accept such donations, the others graciously took them. My bank account doesn't look that much worse for wear, but if I keep up at this job in twenty years, I'll be sucked dry, and not just of money. My soul's already gaunt as it is from doing this job for a few meager years. I could never go back to the partying teen who valued liquor above a relationship and compassion that I was, that most Capitolites still are. I'll be just skin and bones emotionally if I keep watching all these kids die, if I have to write forty odd checks a month to the dead families as my tears taint the sorry gifts that are not enough to erase the loss of a child. I wish I could do more, but sometimes I selfishly wish I could recede and not have to do this any longer.

I really hope one of my kids wins this year, and takes over. I would be sad to lose my spot, but more relieved than anything to unburden myself, selfish as it sounds. I'm only 24. I'm not ready to keel over and become a broken backed woman without a nice bone in my body after watching so much carnage as a Mentor. I'll stick with this job to the bitter end, but I sorely hope that the end for me is nearer than farther.

* * *

 _All I got is these broken clocks_

 _I ain't got no time_

 _Just burning daylight_

 _Still up still up_

 _Its still love its_

 _Still love still love still loving still love_

 _Nothing but love for you_

* * *

 _ **Scylas Ondino, 25**_

 _ **District Two Mentor**_

The Pre-Games are nearing their end. Interviews are over, and the last thing left for today is the Fun Day, where the tributes get to have their last hurrah, stuffing themselves to the brim with sugars and fats and going on so many roller coasters that they puke it all back up. It's a great experience for the Outer District kids who have never even heard of the multitude of different soda brands the Capitol offers, and its a way for the Pack to bond and let off some steam before the Games begin. For the Mentors, it's also our last day off before we're stuck in the Mentoring hot seat for a couple of weeks, barely sleeping or eating, eyes always glued to our giant monitors, watching our tributes intensely and sending help and advice when possible.

While this day is usually spent by most Mentors eating, napping, and visiting friends in the Capitol, the Careers never are fully at rest. As Tyberios and Ardin put on normal clothes to go explore the upper regions of the Tribute Center with the rest of their Pack, Serephina and I gather some paperwork and get ready to depart. While our tributes will be having fun today, Serephina and I will be plotting, planning, and negotiating with the other Career Mentors.

It's something we always do on this day in the Games. We meet at the same cafe near the Tribute Center called Marvalli's, a place that Clay, our District's first Victor, put into the spotlight by eating there every time he comes to the Capitol. It's a hot spot for celebrities, and they have a special back room reserved for any stray Victor that is open 24/7. They especially favor Career Victors however, and they graciously host our Pack discussions on this day every year.

We part with our tributes with a few quick nods, and we step onto elevator as Tyberios and Ardin finish eating their breakfasts at the table with Cretta. The doors snap closed, and the elevator carries us down to the lobby. None of the other four Mentors attending the brunch are down here, either walking to the restaurant or coming down from their rooms, which leaves Serephina and I alone to have a preparatory conversation.

"So we're not negotiating for Ardin to lead the pack, correct?" I ask as the two of us stride confidently out of the revolving doors that lead in and out of the Tribute Center. The moment we hit the sidewalks Capitolites are all around gasping and giggling and snapping pictures. An armed guard of four Peacekeepers wordlessly surrounds us to escort us to Marvalli's. It's not that we can't take care of ourselves; they want people to leave us alone, and they don't want their beloved Victors to have to become violent or rude to their public while they're heading to a brunch.

"No. It's in her best interests and in favor of her angle to fade back and let Oisin's boy take the reigns. She shouldn't have even squabbled about it in the first place. Ardin is a good liar, but she struggles to fit into a box and a single definition. She doesn't like to pretend that she's something less than she is," Serephina replies, clucking her tongue. "At least she's trying harder than Venia would've been. That girl would've been so unapologetically domineering that Oisin's boy would've probably clipped her at the Bloodbath with the approval of the rest of the Pack. She would've thrived as a loner however."

"Better to not get hung up on the bygones," I mutter lightly.

"Oh yes, you just know I took personal interest in both of those girls," Serephina sighs. "It's rough to squash one of their dreams. But yes, Ardin will bow down from the fight and will take the position of follower in the beginning. Letting her be leader would backfire, and I feel that's what Oisin would like. Set us up for failure. His boy is too vicious to be swayed to any of his logic, however. We're lucky he has such a cocky one this time."

"And sponsor funds? Tyberios's medicine will be expensive. There has been possibilities of pooling Trinity and Tyberios's funds to afford him medicine since they seem to be a duo that will later break off from the Pack at the split. It may not be necessary, however. We'll have to see sponsorship turnout fully for Tyberios," I inform.

"I hope that boy understands that his partner isn't just another dumb blonde, although she isn't trying to play up that act," Serephina murmurs. "She's heartless enough to fuck him over before he fucks her over. However, it's probably the best choice for him, as Ardin would like to be alone after the breakup, Chavez is too unpredictable, and the other two seem to have already paired."

"So it's confirmed that the Reaped girl is in it?" I inquire, looking over to Serephina. She's about three or four inches shorter than me, but her heels make her the same height, maybe even a little taller. It's nice to feel equal to the woman that was my superior for so long; it's still an adjustment to call her Serephina instead of Headmistress, even after almost seven years since my Victory, when I earned the right.

"She's in, although we'll have to formally agree at the brunch," Serephina replies, keeping her eyes focused ahead. We turn a corner, and Marvalli's appears on the horizon. Serephina smiles softly as we make the short rest of our trip to the restaurant. The Peacekeepers remain outside with several others who probably escorted the others here. It's okay for us to be the last ones here. As the biggest power players in the Pack, the others would never verbally disrespect a tardy arrival in fear of us siccing our tributes on them. It's a little arrogant, but it's the truth.

A nicely dressed hostess leads us back through the open air cafe to the secluded table a great distance from the others, guarded by one way mirrors; everyone in the restaurant just sees their reflections, while we can see out. The vain citizens of the Capitol are happy to get to look at themselves and forget to have a fangasm over the fact that there's probably Victors inside of those glass walls. There's always a guard, imported from Two and handpicked from the Academy by Clay, that keeps guard of the restaurant and the Victors' lounge when there are Victors occupying it. I smile at the man after he unlocks the door to the lounge and lets us in.

Esquiria, Kenyan, Oisin, and Mags all sit around the beautiful, sculpted metal, glass, and wood table. Esquiria sits prim and proper in her seat, looking as passive and disinterested as ever as she inspects her nails, a pale blue cocktail sitting in front of her. Kenyan and Oisin are talking and whooping with heavy laughter, sipping at their beers. Mags straightens when I enter the room, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and slurping at her whiskey rather obnoxiously. I sit down next to her anyway, while Serephina sits between myself and Esquiria. The board is complete.

The meeting buzzes past in a blur. Serephina does most of the negotiating and discussing as the definite leader of all things diplomatic and political that has to deal with our District in the Games, and I get to mainly focus on enjoying the rich brunch supplied and chatting with Mags. We both add our own points and supplement the statements of our superiors, but we're the most insignificant people in the room. Serephina and Oisin steer the ships for our Districts. Meanwhile, while Esquiria and Kenyan are very opposite in terms of personality, they have a great working relationship, and are effective as a duo. Mags and I are there just to complete the board and add in comments, but we're not here to do much else but eat french toast and interject.

I guess I drink one too many bloody marys, because when the meeting is adjourned around noon, I find myself sitting alone in the Victor's room with a similarly tipsy Mags. The One crew had embarked to attend to sponsorship forms with their escort, and Serephina left soon after to go visit an old friend in the poorer southern streets of the Capitol. Note that poor means that those Capitolites can only afford to buy six couture gowns a season, as opposed to the twelve-odd that the upper crust usually purchase. Oisin can take many beers and seemed as if he was going to stay around to party, but something motivated him to leave. I can't really remember. I'm just in a haze right now, and the waiter has stopped coming in with more whiskeys for Mags and bloody marys for myself.

The door is locked. No one can see inside. And Mags is _giggling._ And sitting close to me. Really close. Like so close she can probably feel the short, shallow exhales from my nostrils now that I've realized out proximity. Mags has a sly smile on her face, but it's not the sarcastic one that she makes fun of me with. It's something I've never seen before, and it's as if someone's shattered the glazed over look on her eyes that hides everything. They sparkle in the lights of the lounge, and when our lips connect I know that we've both been waiting for this moment for a while. Sexual tension is sweetest when it's finally relieved.

We don't fuck or do anything but kiss, and it sweet, sitting there for a long while, lost in a half-drunken blur, kissing the woman I would never admit that I had a thing for. Mags Flanagan seems untouchable, but I guess I probably seemed untouchable to her as well. Insecurities just made us torture ourselves for a couple years longer than necessary, but the influx of buildup just makes the moment sweeter.

When we finally part, we fix ourselves up and part with light smiles. There are no signs of what just happened; the columnists won't be chattering in their tabloids about a hickey on her neck or some of her lipstick smeared on my cheek. If they do, it'll be all lies. We don't speak or touch as we walk back to the Tribute Center, as if nothing has changed and we're just two Mentors in a perfunctory work relationship. We don't crack demeaning jokes either, however, and her eyes are still sparkling when we part ways.

Well, I just kissed Mags Flanagan. The repercussions of this are going to be...interesting, to say the least.

* * *

 **A/N: That was a fun update I hope, and I liked writing these two. Scylas and Mags (Scyags? Maglas?!) has been in the back of my mind for a while now. Next chapter will be the Fun Day, and then the Last Night, Last Morning, and then Into the Tubes and the Countdown. And then I'll start murdering your darlings :/ We're really getting close!**

 **What did you think of these two POVs? I hope they were enjoyable :D Also, what's up with y'all? I haven't gotten to post or talk to people a lot, so if you have anything going on, I'd be happy to chat for a little :)**

 **Trivia:**

 **Eris (1 pt.) - What is the name of the journalist who wrote the bare bones article about Filippo's birth?**

 **Scylas (1 pt.) - What is the name of the restaurant?**

 **Until Next Time (probably soon I hope),**

 **Tracee**


	59. Final Time in the Capitol

**A/N: So I've made my decision. This will be the last Capitol chapter, and then we're onto Into the Tubes and so forth. I'm sorry to those who didn't get two POVs, but I don't have it in me to write several more Capitol chapters. The only reason I'm writing this one is because it spurs very important development for certain characters. If I ever have the energy I may post some bonus chapters of what else happened in the Capitol after I finish. Today we're visiting Trinity Vegas from District One, Bernie Areli from District Five, and Cordelia Nile from District Four.**

 **Trigger warnings:**

 **Money Honey by Tanerelle is Trinity's song, Love Song by Justine Skye is Bernie's song, and Normal Girl by SZA is Cordelia's song.**

* * *

 _It's time to get your own_

 _There ain't no need to follow_

 _Lead 'em to the money and they're happy just to follow_

 _Just to follow,_

 _They're happy just to follow baby_

 _Just to follow_

 _I told you before,_ _I'll tell you again_

 _It's my time to win_

 _It's time to get that money honey,_

 _money money honey_

* * *

 ** _Trinity Vegas, 18_**

 ** _District One Female_**

I had always assumed that the Pack spent the Fun Day together to bond and prepare for the trials and tribulations of the Games ahead through thorough relaxation and feasting. A day of gorging before a death match where food may be unavailable won't ruin my curves. But yeah, I just imagined everyone sitting around a large table at one of the nicer restaurants, hashing it out over mounds of fries and pitchers of cola and lemonade. Maybe they do that other years, but not today.

We all met up on the first Fun Floor at a florescent pink flowered potted bush near the elevator as planned. Cordelia and Zircon immediately struck off to go on the roller coaster nearby, saying that they would catch us later. Chavez's eyes widened as he spotted an attractive Capitolite woman sashaying towards her workplace, an outer space themed restaurant. He looked us all over skeptically and then dashed off to intercept her. That just left myself, Tyberios, and Ardin standing there, and now we are twenty three seconds into the awkward game of "Who's going to be the next one to bail?"

At forty six seconds, Ardin takes the bait. "I was thinking about getting my nails painted my District color," she tells us, biting her lip. "Sorry to leave you guys, but you know..."

"Nah, don't worry about it, go ahead," Tyberios replies, patting his District partner on the shoulder, and she grins and walks off in search of a salon.

"So it's just you and me, unless you're going to bail?" I inquire, quirking my eyebrow as I look at my closest ally in the Games. Tyberios smirks, folding his thick arms across his muscular chest. The staring match lasts only a couple of moments, but I feel just a little something stirring within me. I push it away before I can examine it. Today is not a day for introspective feelings. Today is a day for going batshit crazy and bathing myself in pleasure just in case I don't make it back home. That's unlikely, but there's always the possibility, and if today is my last day before entering the arena where I will die, then I will make the most of it.

"I heard they have something called a zoo here," Tyberios answers after a while. "Exotic animals found nowhere else in the world."

"Like mutts?" I ask. Of course I've heard the term zoo before, but they don't have any in the Districts, not even in One and Two. I've never been, and the only animals I've seen face to face are domesticated animals and the wild ones that live around the District like deer.

"I don't know how they're raised, but they're apparently modeled after extinct creatures," Tyberios says. "It sounds interesting, and they're probably cooler than the stags that are basically the only large animals that live in Two besides the few and far in between bears and cougars."

"What floor is it on?" I question.

"Fun Floor 4 I believe. We can ride up there now. Even though everyone else is staying down here in hopes of meeting up again, we all know that we're going to stay broken up for the rest of the day." He speaks the truth. The two of us walk back to the nearby elevator and hop in.

He presses the "FF4" button on the panel, and the elevator climbs up to that floor. The elevator seems a little smaller now that it's just Tyberios and myself inside, and as the doors open and we walk out, our shoulders brush. Neither of us says a thing but a little shiver goes through my body.

"Cold?" he asks as we look around for an Avox, hoping to find directions to the zoo.

"No. Just a shiver," I saying, brushing it off. I spot an Avox striding towards us, and we walk out to meet her. "Could you direct us to the zoo?"

The petite woman nods vigorously, half starstruck and half jubilant to be escorting Tyberios and myself. I guess she's a Career fan. Her narrow facial features and dyed red hair with barely noticeable blond roots lead me to believe she's somehow related to the people of One. I don't know what someone from One would have to do to get Avoxed, but apparently this woman did it and now she's our personal tour guide to the zoo.

The zoo isn't as big as I imagined it would be, but it's still magnificent. Over the zoo's entrance is an archway with iron lettering proclaiming what lies beyond it. There's a half mile circular path that goes around a dozen or so enclosures that hold animals of all types. The first enclosure is grassy and mostly flat, with a herd of ten to fifteen horses with black and white stripes roaming through it. It almost looks like someone painted the horses they use in the chariot parades to be funny and plopped them in an exhibit at the zoo. The sign calls them zebras. What a strange name.

The next two cages hold more familiar animals; of course everyone has heard of lions and tigers. You can't exactly erase such proud and fierce creatures from a culture. They were already absorbed into sayings and flags and things like that. But I've never, ever seen them live, and it's marvelous. Tyberios is speechless too as we stroll down the path. The Avox offers us two large fruit smoothies, and we take them, sipping at them as we stride past a trio of elephants, a family of giraffes, several seals zipping through an underwater enclosure, and a menagerie of exotic birds flapping around in a rainforest setting that you can walk through. We take our time exploring the awe inspiring place, and when we're done we sit at a table near the lions, finishing our smoothies and chatting about trivial things.

Of course trivial things can only sustain conversation for so long, and soon our delicious smoothies are gone. The magnificence around us sharpens a little as we look into each others eyes. Tyberios reaches his hand across the table, and I take it, squeezing it.

"Together till the end," Tyberios murmurs, never breaking eye contact.

"Together till the end," I agree in reply as the lions roar their approval behind us.

* * *

 _Now it's like you never knew me_

 _Act like you don't know me_

 _You used to hold me, the old me_

 _Console me, show me_

 _What your love is made of_

 _Now there's all this space between us_

 _Brooklyn, Decatur_

* * *

 ** _Bernie Areli, 12_**

 ** _District Five Female_**

There were worse things in the world than being smooshed up inside a laundry hamper, carted roughly by an Avox down into the depths of the Tribute Center's lower layers, as the Fun Day I had not enjoyed a moment of drew to a close. I just kept telling myself that over and over, ignoring the thoughts of what I could've spent my day doing, like sketching out a Games plan with my allies, riding roller coasters with Sage and Gaia, or assisting Carmen with baby Filippo. Instead, I've been trying to conjure up ways to find my Avoxed mother and how to sneak into her quarters to see her.

Tributes aren't allowed in the underground floors past the first basement level where the training center, styling stations, and medical offices are. The Avoxes reside on the bottom fourth basement level and work on the second and third levels, where clothing and equipment is washed, meals are made, and large storage areas are found. Stealing Anneliese's device helped me learn all of this, and it also helped me figure out when the Avoxes would come to take our laundry down to the secretive and presumably not very well kept lower levels of the Training Center.

When the Avox came by with the large hamper, I slouched in a chair as she ducked into one of the rooms to gather the clothes in there. I took the few precious moments I had to jump inside the large rolling hamper, parked right outside of a secret service elevator I never noticed tucked in a back corner by the balcony. I bury myself under the heaps of dirty laundry until my small frame is fully covered.

There is a lot of laundry in the hamper. She must've started at the Twelve floor and worked her way down. I may be quite heavy compared to the clothes, but I doubt she will notice. If she does, I'll just claim I was playing an innocent game and figure out another way to sneak down to find my mother.

The Avox returns and piles on more clothing before pushing the hamper towards the elevator. She grunts and checks the wheels, thinking something's holding her up. She then shakes her head and hauls the cart forward into the elevator, pressing a button to presumably send her down to the District Four level.

After gathering all the dirty laundry from the other floors, she heaves the hamper into the elevator for one last time and we descend several levels, past the ground entrance level and the first basement floor. We pause on what must be the second basement floor. When the doors of the elevator ping open, the Avox shoves the hamper cart in a certain direction, and then I hear her footsteps fading away as she returns to the elevator.

Suddenly the cart jerks, and I suppress a shriek as the cart is flipped and myself and all of the dirty laundry get chucked down a laundry chute. The wide slide-like tunnel shoots down, and thank god I fit inside, or else we'd have a _big_ problem. After the initial paralyzing fear I start to enjoy the adrenaline rush almost as if it were a roller coaster ride until I fall through the end of the tube into an even larger hamper.

I find myself in a darkened laundry room. A dozen or so machines churn and purr as they clean clothes, lined up on one wall. The other wall has the large trough full of dirty laundry where I lie, my short fall from the chute cushioned by all the clothing underneath me. It also has a cabinet, probably holding cleaning stuff, and most importantly of all, a door out into the hallways of the lower levels. I've made it.

I suppress my giddiness as I slide out of the laundry trough, sneaking past the laundry machines to the door. I ease it open, and it glides open without a single squeak. I peek my head out into a thin, dimly lit hallway. There are several doors pockmarking the walls, and the hallway turns in a different direction at both ends. By how far I fell, I'm guessing I'm on the very bottom floor, which is also the floor where most of the Avox rooms are.

Before going out to explore, I have a good idea. I stumble back to the laundry trough, digging around until I find an Avox uniform. It's too big and has a pretty large stain from some sort of sauce or soup on the chest area, but it'll do. I then confidently step out of the laundry room and calmly walk down the halls.

The hours trickle by as I patrol the narrow hallways. I find all types of places; kitchens, dormitories, sculleries, laundry rooms, storage areas, and more. No one gives me a second glance; I blend into the crowd rather well, and my short stature and the innocent, shy look about me keep anyone from approaching me. Once an Avox flashes me a rapid series of hand signals that must be their language, and he looks a little miffed when I just shrug at him. Besides that, however, I do fine.

I'm getting a little tired of exploring soon enough. The tiled corridors are all the same and I don't even know how I'll find my mother. I'm not even looking as I round a corner and smack right into an Avox, sending the pile of folded towels in her arms flying across the hall.

I scuttle across the ground, gathering them and handing them to her. When our hands brush, my eyes look up, and my breath catches in my throat.

The eyes I look into look identical to mine.

My mother's eyes are wide with shock; she instantly recognizes my face. She drops the towels all over again and encompasses me in a crushing hug, squeezing me so tight I swear I can't breathe a single breath. I almost want to squirm it's so tight, but I let her smash me and I learn to enjoy it. Soon enough I'm wrapped around her as well, and the neither of us separate until we hear footsteps approaching.

Good things can only last so long in a hellhole like the Capitol. The duo of Peacekeepers clicking down the hallway obviously knows I'm here; I forgot entirely about the tracker they injected into the back of our necks after the Reapings to make sure we wouldn't sneak off at any time during the Pre Games. I've just been moving around so much and so erratically that they probably haven't been able to nab me yet.

"I love you," I murmur quickly as the men, with their stiff, gloved hands and glowers hidden by thick black glass visors, pick me up by the arms.

I may not know the sign language the Avoxes use around here, but I can understand what my mother does next. She points at herself, makes a heart shape with her hands, and then points at me as we round a corner. She's gone just like that, and tears of both joy and sadness begin to trickle down my cheeks. I don't fight the Peacekeepers; there's no point in it. I've already sealed my slim chances by sneaking off into illegal areas. I've burnt through my fuse. They would probably never let me win the Games. I just hope they leave my mother alone. I can die happy seeing her this one last time, really, truly. I just hope she doesn't have to die, too.

* * *

 _Wish I was the type of girl you take over to mama_

 _The type of girl, I know my daddy, he'd be proud of_

 _Yeah, be proud of_

 _Be proud of, be proud, you know, you know_

 _Wanna be a type of girl, you take home to your mama_

 _The type of girl, I know your fellas would be proud of_

 _Be proud of, be proud of, be proud of, boy you know_

 _Normal girl_

 _I wish I was a normal girl, oh my_

 _How do I be? How do I be a lady?_

 _Normal girl, oh_

 _I wish I was a normal girl_

* * *

 ** _Cordelia Nile, 17_**

 ** _District Four Female_**

Sitting in the living room, my eyes are glued to the television screen. I'm watching some blowhard comedy about a drag queen and a Gamemaker, and the whole thing is mostly dry and not up my alley, but I don't know what else to do. The sky is dark, sans all of the glittering displays of lights that coat the Capitol's skyline, and in the morning I will be walking to the hovercraft that will carry myself and the other tributes to the arena. My knees feel weak and my stomach is flippy. I just want to curl up in a tighter ball on the couch. I just want to be distracted by something, but none of the shows on the TV are working. Nothing on the Fun Floors helped either. The Pack never met back up and I returned here earlier than I probably should've, lost in my own head.

I make up my mind, deciding to head into Mags's room for comfort. I want to reaffirm the strategy that we've been discussing for a while. I already know the plan word for word, but reciting it with her, sitting on her bed as we eat little chocolates and she lets me take a sip of her cocktail, makes me feel like I'm just a teenage girl sneaking out to a party with friends back home, not a girl preparing to die in a death match.

Thoughts of home make things just get more murky and disconcerting. I shove myself off of the couch before I can fully submerge in the memories, both cheery and rueful. I'm never going to be able to leave the sofa and the nest of blankets and pillows if I start reviewing every cherished moment of my childhood. I stumble to Mags door and knock. There's no answer, so I slowly push it open, the door swinging in without a creak.

The lights are off, and the bed is perfectly made. There is no sign of Mags being in here in the past several hours excepting the small pile of papers laying at the foot of her bed, and the pair of stilettos thrown to the ground in the corner. She must be out doing something or other, like getting sponsors.

I start to creep back out of the room, but my eyes swivel towards the pile of papers on the foot of her bed. My curiosity is piqued, and even though I know I should keep away, the other part of me argues it's probably just sponsorship forms and technical jargon, nothing important. I have nothing to lose at this point, so I might as well just give it a peek and then go back to my couch to sulk and try to make myself feel better until the morning.

The carpet of Mags's room is soft under my feet as I tread carefully over to the slim stack of papers. The first several sheets are sponsorship forms, as expected. The next few are blank sheets of paper with Mags's name and titles scrawled on the top my some Capitolite calligrapher. One of the many perks of being a Victor; you get customized stationery. I push past those sheets, and then I find the last thing: a thick manila envelope.

I flip it over, and my eyes bug out. Written in my father's loopy handwriting is my name with a little heart next to it. I don't care about the repercussions or if I'm going to be caught. This envelope is for me, and it's from my dad, it's from my family, and it even smells a little like the salty breezes and ripe fruit of home. The tears collect in my eyes as I rip it open and pour out the contents onto Mags's impeccable bedspread.

Glossy photographs cascade out of the envelope, along with two folded up letters. I sift through the photos as tears begin to streak down my face. One of myself and my siblings work at the docks. Another of mom and dad on their wedding day. Our whole family sitting on the front porch of our house. And then there's pictures of me with cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, you name it, it's there. There's also a smattering of pictures of me with my friends, and then several with my boyfriend Beck. The tears intensify when I get to the picture of myself and him going to prom together, his tall muscular frame towering over little ole me as he bent down to kiss me for the very first time. My teardrops luckily miss the precious pictures, dampening the sheets of the bed.

Once I've looked over all of the pictures, I grab at the letters. The first one makes me start to sob uncontrollably. It's from Beck, and it's already stained by his own tears. The lengthy love letter makes my heart swell and bleed, and he professes everything to me within it. My breathing is shaky and ragged, my eyes bloodshot and my cheeks wet with tears, when I finish reading it for the third time. I fold it back up and press it to my chest before picking up the other letter.

It's from my father. He begins by telling me how much he loves me and how he believes in me, etc. The tears leak as my heart billows again; my tears are just so little now because I've cried out most of the water in my body at this point. The letter isn't as long as Beck's, and towards the end my heart stills as I read the last several lines.

 _Cordelia, I almost feel like I should blame myself for everything that's happened to you. I don't know if your Reaping was by bizarre chance or if it was the doing of Snow. During the rebellion, your mother and I were rebels. We only survived by changing our identities and fading in the woodwork. But we always remained in contact with the other remainders of our force in Four, and recently some things have been stirring. I always trained you and your siblings for chances like this one. I'm sorry if I've doomed you, Cordelia. I will never be able to forgive myself, my baby._

 _Love,_

 _Dad_

And then I suddenly know why this packet was never given to me. Of course my father, who has strong connections in our District, could smuggle this onto the train to Mags. But she never gave it to me, not only because she didn't want me distracted by constant thoughts of my family, friends, and Beck like I will be now, but because she didn't want me to read those last lines. I would've known dad would never send a packet like this and not include a letter from himself. She didn't want me to know that I may have been Reaped and put into the Games because I'm related to rebels.

My heart beats uncontrollably. Those Reaped because of rebellious heritage never win, unless you're Unity Carden, and she denounced all connections to the rebels at her interviews just so she could have a chance at survival. There is nothing I can do to shake this. Snow may have chosen me to thwart my parents' efforts of revitalizing the rebellion in Four instead of trying to execute all of the remaining rebels and offending the more Capitol favored citizens of our District by investigating a rebellious force in a District they think is fully complacent and in contention to be the Capitol's lapdog.

This knowledge weighs heavy on me, because I now feel some of my convictions seeping away like the tears slipped from my eyes. I may have no chance in the world no matter how hard I fight. I begin to shake, and I turn to flee from the room when I see Mags standing in the doorway, appalled as she sees my broken expression and the contents of the envelope splayed across her bed.

She steps forward and I collapse in her arms wordlessly. She strokes my hair as I begin to sob once more, and all she can murmur is, "I'm sorry."

* * *

 **A/N: I got this out pretty fast just because I had all of yesterday free and I really want to get to the Games! The next chapter will be Into the Tubes, then the Countdown, and then the hallowed Bloodbath! I'm very excited to get things rolling, and I hope you are as well!**

 **What did you think of these three POVs? How will these developments effect these girls and the Games?**

 **I'm posting a new poll. I have the Games pretty much figured out at this point, but I want to see what you guys think. You can vote for who you think will die in the Bloodbath. That will give me a better idea of how my plan will shock or not shock you :) I'll take it down after the Bloodbath and then post a popularity poll for the remaining tributes.**

 **You may also share your predictions in the reviews. I'd love to see that.**

 **P.S. One parting hint: for my Bloodbath, I won't be following the recent SYOT trend of small 3-5 death Bloodbaths...;)**

 **Trivia:**

 **Trinity (1 pt.) - Name two animals they saw at the zoo**

 **Bernie (1 pt.) - How did Bernie get to the Avox floors?**

 **Cordelia (1 pt.) - Name the two other types of paper in the pile besides the envelope for Cordelia.**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	60. Into the Tubes

_**INTO THE TUBES**_

 _A POV from each Mentor/Stylist/Escort as they send their tribute off into the Games._

* * *

 **Kenyan Rudd, District One Mentor**

Zircon bounces his knee from the nerves as we sit in the catacomb chamber underneath the arena. We've been sitting in charged silence for the past five minutes as the uniform is prepped and the arena given a final once over. The two of us get along rather well, but the time for jokes and goofy grins is over until Zircon comes back with the crown on his head and blood on his hands. I've already given every bit of advice humanly possible. I have nothing left to say to him except a parting good luck.

The Avox delivers his arena uniform. I hand it to him piece by piece, averting my eyes as he changes into the loose, dark brown athletic shorts and tan colored t-shirt that he is required to wear. He finishes by lacing on his murky brown tennis shoes, and moments later a mechanical voice tells us that there's a minute until he must step inside the clear tube nestled in the corner of the room, the tube that will raise him into the arena.

"Good luck, Zircon," I say as I grab his hand and envelop him in a tight bro hug. When we part, there's about thirty seconds left, and he slips inside the tube instead of waiting. All is silent for some moments until the tube entrance closes. Zircon's eyes open wide for a moment, but then his expression shifts to the focused one he's been taught as the pedestal begins to raise. It's time for him to turn off the fun and games and turn on the killer buried inside.

* * *

 **Esquiria Pasquale, District One Mentor**

I don't want to admonish Trinity as she checks herself in a mirror after putting on the plain tan shirt and brown shorts. Usually I would be making comments galore about how my tribute should be focusing on going up into the arena in minutes instead of checking to make sure they still look beautiful, but I'm finally starting to begrudgingly understand. In One, we are the pretty District, not the ruthless District like Two. Our daughters are taught that they must be the most optimal beauties to qualify for the Games along with being fighters, while places like Two and Four let in as many plain tributes as they do attractive ones. We raise our children to be vain, and we raise them to think that they must use their looks to win the Games. It is not Trinity's fault that a master part of her scheme is to look beautiful for the audience. It is not her fault that her appearance is what defines her, and that that fact aggravates her so much. It is our fault, my fault.

"You have my respect, Trinity," I call out to her as she steps into the tube.

"And you mine," Trinity utters before the tube seals itself. She looks to the sky as she rises, and I can't help feeling a little proud.

* * *

 **Scylas Ondino, District Two Mentor**

Tyberios is hopping around the room, punching at the air and hyping himself up. I watch, lightly amused as he gets himself more and more riled up for the massive battle about to take place. He stops long enough to shuck his clothes and shrug on the tan shirt and mud brown shorts that are this year's uniform before he gets back to his prancing around. Sweat beads on his forehead, and I have to stop him. I can't have him getting exhausted right before the Bloodbath.

"You've gotta calm down, Tyb, your endurance is going to be shot," I tell him.

"I need to make the headaches back off for the Bloodbath until I can get my meds," he huffs back, hopping around some more. "This gets my adrenaline running even higher. I barely feel a twinge of pain now."

Just then the automated voice tells us that we have a minute until Tyberios must be in the tube. He does a few more punches and then shakes my hand before leaping into his tube. The door inside slides shut, and soon enough he is gone. I make a beeline for the Control Center, determined to have those meds ready to go the moment the Bloodbath comes to its conclusion.

* * *

 **Serephina Manchas, District Two Mentor**

Ardin looks nervous, too nervous, as we wait in the tube room. She takes her sweet time lacing up her dull brown running shoes, and she doesn't look at me much, absorbed in her own world. I have to snap her out of it. I grab her by the front of her shirt. Shocked, she looks at me in the eyes.

"Get out of your head, Ardin," I growl.

"I'm just worried," she mutters, looking as if she wants to sever our eye contact but can't bring herself to. "The pack is really divided this year, and I have no one on my side. And Chavez hates me with a passion. When we split, I'm going to be in trouble. Hell, I might have a hard time getting out of the Bloodbath for Snow's sake!"

"Think girl, think!" I hiss. "You've worked yourself out of tougher conundrums than this one a thousand times on paper. If things get sketchy, it's easy: you just leave. We all like to talk about honor and pride in Two, but when it comes down to it, survival is the most essential virtue we preach. Becoming a Victor makes you immune from any taunts of coward or backstabber. Survive, and work around anything that comes your way, and you'll be golden."

"You're right," Ardin sighs. "I've got this."

"You better."

* * *

 **Amandus Brushes, District Three Stylist**

"Fuji, you better go out there and put on a good show for us," I beg as I help her tie up her hair in a bun so it won't inhibit her in the Bloodbath.

"If good show means me getting out of the Bloodbath alive, then I'm all down for it," she replie. I finish the bun, and then I let her survey herself in a little pocket mirror I smuggle in every year. She gives herself a cursory look, knowing this may be the last time she will ever see her reflection.

The automated voice warns us of Fuji's impending boarding of the tube, and she takes her sweet time getting inside. I grin at her as she waits to be taken up into the arena. Soon enough the pedestal begins to rise up, and Fuji starts to disappear. Moments before she's out of sight, she kisses her engagement ring, and then I can't see her anymore. I thought that finally, since I got two older ones, I wouldn't feel as guilty when they died. Knowing this girl's story however, I know I'll still feel the pain when she inevitably dies in the arena above ground.

* * *

 **Takami Wired, District Three Mentor**

"Just stay with Fuji if anything questionable or worrying happens," I remind Millard as he puts on the tan shirt he'll wear into the arena. "You can trust her, at least enough not to stab you in the back for quite some time. I can't say the same about anyone else going up into that arena with you, but you have enough common sense to decide that for yourself."

"Takami, I've got this. We don't need to review everything again," Millard calmly tells me. "I know the game plan, and I'll stick to it to the best of my abilities. And if I have to improvise, I'll improvise. I can handle it. Just be smart with sponsorship."

"I will," I say. And then the voice beeps telling us that Millard has less than a minute to get into his tube. He quickly ties his shoes and then strides over to the tube, ducking inside. It closes, cutting him off from the rest of the world and preparing to deposit him in the hell that waits for him above. It doesn't matter what type of arena it is. It'll always be hell for the kids who die there, and for the one kid who gets to come out of it.

* * *

 **Mags Flanagan, District Four Mentor**

Cordelia looks at a picture of her family and a picture of Beck for the last time, for a last couple ounces of strength. She's fully dressed for her entrance into the arena, and we're just waiting for the announcement that it's time for her to go into the tube. That voice comes over the speakers, and Cordelia hands me the photographs. She takes a deep breath. Before she goes into the tube, I grab her by the shoulders and spin her towards me.

"Still fight, Cordelia. We don't know if you were Reaped because you're family were rebels or if it was just a coincidence. There's no point in giving up. You could still easily come out of this. Do...do this for me, alright? I've got fucking attached to you for whatever damn reason, and I need you to do well."

"I will do my fucking best, Mags," she promises with a small smile, and I can't help but laugh. Then she hops into her tube. She presses her hands to the glass and I press my hands in the same place on the other side until the platform carries her away. This one is going to hurt like fuck.

* * *

 **Oisin O'Cobb, District Four Mentor**

Chavez doesn't even look nervous as we wait for him to go into the tube. He's grinning rabidly, and none of his body shakes. He isn't bouncing around on an adrenaline high, and he isn't chattering away to pass the time. He just stands there, grinning, and it's pretty disturbing to be honest. He's our best tribute in years, but he still creeps me the hell out sometimes. Being just a normal guy who won, not a Career, the extremely bloodthirsty ones freak me out a bit. He's going to be a monster in that arena, and I'm not exactly sure I'm ready to see what he'll do. I know the Capitol is definitely ready, however, and he'll put on one hell of a show for them.

"Don't go insane in there," I say in a joking voice, even though I really mean it. He just whoops with laughter and shakes his head as he climbs into his tube.

"I'll do my best to have as much fun as possible," he purrs before the tube slides shut, and I can't say I'm too sad to see him disappear into the arena. Powers above, if you exist, please have mercy on the souls Chavez is about to tear limb from limb.

* * *

 **Anneliese Petrova, District Five Mentor**

Bernie doesn't seem as fiery as she did in the past several days, and she certainly isn't as pissed off at me. She's scared, as she should be, quivering as she changes into her arena outfit. When she's dressed, she stands there, staring off into space. She doesn't cry as I expected her to. She just stands there, and stares, and it's so eerie that I break the empty, motionless silence by striding forward and wrapping her in a tight hug.

"I'm going to die today," she murmurs, emotionless, into my shoulder.

"That's alright," I whisper. "I don't usually tell tributes this, but...I wish I would've died instead of winning. It's worse than death, I believe."

"I hope death is better than winning," Bernie muses as she steps into her tube. "I hope it happens quick."

"Me too," I whisper as she is hauled above by the platform.

* * *

 **Speciallo Canty, District Five Stylist**

I know this is a time where tributes should get focused for the impending Bloodbath, but Jayce seems like the type that would enjoy a bit of a lightening up. He puts on the horrid tan shirt and brown shorts that they're forcing the tributes to wear this year (and I thought that Ludum had finally gained some fashion sense after he updated the Gamemaker uniform to something actually cool). Then I pop the question.

"So. Did you like the kiss I gave you when you asked during the styling?"

"I'll have to tell you when I get back," Jayce replies shakily. Before I know it he's climbing inside his tube, and I haven't gotten my answer. The naive side of me is hoping even harder that Jayce will come back, but the realist side of me knows I'll never find out if he liked it or not.

* * *

 **Calla Espenson, District Six Mentor**

"If the arena is a hospital with medicine and stuff I'll scream," Libby grunts as we wait for the arena uniform to be delivered. "I can't trust myself anymore."

The Avox hands over the tan shirt along with the muddy brown shorts and shoes. It's most definitely not a hospital unless Ludum was high when he decided which uniforms to assign for the arena. Then again, Ludum's probably been high a lot after his divorce.

"Things should get better as time passes. If you make it out of the Bloodbath, it'll buy you enough time for your clarity to improve," I inform her.

"If I just make it out of the Bloodbath..." she sighs. "The world isn't going to miss me, is it?"

"Not unless you make it. I have...faith in you, Libby."

"You're too kind, Calla."

"There's a first time for everything." And then she was gone, just like that. I wasn't ready for it this time. Another first.

* * *

 **Twinkle Petyr, District Six Stylist**

Usually it's the tributes who cry as their Mentor or Stylist tries to comfort them. This time, I can't control myself. Fender has been my favorite tribute ever, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. I know that's quite a statement to make, but it's true. It's hard to admit, but I'm a very insecure person. It took all of my power to even audition to become a Stylist, and then I miraculously made it in. That should've killed all self doubts I guess, but old habits die hard. And Fender, he's helped me go back to the way I used to be, imaginative and churning out beautiful outfits. My mind feels alive again, and he helped get the gears turning.

"You're amazing," I sob as I squeeze him tight. Fender bites his lip and I can see a few tears in his eyes, but he won't let them fall. When we part, the robotic voice over the speakers is telling him to get into his tube. We spend our last moments together.

"You've been my only real friend here. Thank you, Twinkle," Fender admits.

"You go do well out there, Fender," I tell him boldly. "You knock them all dead, and come back here."

"I w-will," Fender stutters. "I have to."

* * *

 **Oakes Laine, District Seven Mentor**

My sad smile and the gentleness in my movements is the only support and comfort I can offer Baron as he prepares to head into the arena. He's more than capable, but he is quite the target, having one of the highest scores out of the Outliers, and I know Snow will never let him emerge from that arena alive unless he survives a fantastical and brutal series of trials and punishments, which even his determination can't beat.

"Be good," I tell him as he walks towards his tube. "Act like a respectful, diligent citizen, and maybe Snow will reward your patriotism with giving you a shot, okay?"

"I'll try my hardest Oakes, but it's not in my nature to throw roses to the feet of our government," Baron replies.

"Try, really try. For me, for your grandma, for Seven."

He just nods as he steps into the tube. I'm still not convinced.

* * *

 **Paula Eufalu, District Seven Mentor**

Just seeing Ivy makes me feel ashamed. She saw me at my lowest point, drunker than Calla Espenson on New Years Eve, and she doesn't look at me with reverence anymore. She sees me as just another drunkard Victor, a weakling, and I can't stand the half piteous, half disgusted looks she and others give when they find out I'm not perfectly okay like my shield of a strong personality would lead them to believe. I'm also ashamed by the fact that I'm not too sad to see her leave for the arena.

I'll at least bring myself to Mentor her to the best of my abilities, or else I wouldn't be able to live with myself. But a voice in the back of my head, a cowardly one, just says to fail her. I'm stuck in my head until Ivy's fully dressed and the voice is telling her to get in her tube soon. She doesn't look that nervous, and it boggles me. Even I, who was more skilled and had a better score, was shaking from nerves here in the catacombs.

"Not nervous?" I inquire.

"Of course not," she huffs. I wish her good luck and she steps into her tube, not even looking me in the eyes. Cocky, and not respectful. Just more petty reasons to make myself feel better for wanting to see her die up in that arena.

* * *

 **Uriah Matherton, District Eight Mentor**

Calico looks rather unamused as I lay out his uniform for him. I really just want to ball them up in a wad and throw them in his bratty little face, but I'm feeling a little less hateful that usual. Maybe it's the haunting memories of when I nearly wet my pants at this same moment before my Games, or maybe it's because I'll be rid of this little menace in less than a minute. Whatever the occasion, I feel a little more forgiving, and I hand him his clothes nicely folded.

He rolls his eyes as he puts them on, and then he marches over to his tube without another word, ignoring me and tapping his foot insistently on the ground, waiting for it to open up.

"Rearing to go?" I sputter incredulously, starting to laugh in shock. I thought he'd be hiding in the corner, shrinking away from the tube and weeping into his hands.

"Better to get it over with quick, like ripping off a bandaid," Calico growls. The tube entrance slides open, and he ducks inside. He doesn't look at me as he waits to be lifted away. What a prick. At least he has some balls, I guess, but I'm excited to say sayonara to the sucker.

* * *

 **Woof Parsons, District Eight Mentor**

Gaia starts to breathe rapidly as she puts on her uniform. Her fingers are shaking so much she can't even tie her shoelaces, so I do it for her, making sure they're triple knotted, fastened around her feet as tightly as possible to prepare for her opening sprint directly away from the Cornucopia and all the horrors of the Bloodbath. We decided it was the best idea for her, as she's a slower runner and wouldn't want to risk going into the Bloodbath. She'd wait on the sidelines for her allies, and if none of them make it out, she'd just go off on her own. Find water, set up a camp, build traps, etc. etc, everything is laid out. She just needs to get away in the first minutes, and she'll last a while on her knowledge of the wilderness and hiding.

"You're going to be alright, okay? Just stick to the plan." I wrap her in a tight hug after she nods hesitantly. She doesn't cry but I can tell she wants to. I stroke her hair, and then a mechanical voice is beeping at us, informing Gaia that she must get into her tube. Her eyes go wide but she still steps towards the tube and into it all on her own.

"Run like the wind, girl!" I shout right before the tube seals shut. She gives me a weak smile before she rises out of sight.

"Run, run, run..." I murmur, turning to hurry to the Control Center to help out my tribute.

* * *

 **Cravat Lumbroux, District Nine Stylist**

I have worked my hardest to make these two tributes shine this year. Neither of them cried at their Reaping; neither's knees knocked as they crawled onto the interview stage, frightened by the spotlights. They are both healthy and are all smiles and are actually _trying_ to survive for once instead of sobbing about their unfortunate fate like most of the scraggly creatures I'm delivered these days from Nine. I take pride in them, and I want them to do well to make up for the work I've shoveled into their images.

Luke doesn't speak a single word to me in the send off room, and I'm alright with that. He is a man of few, few words it seems, at least in the Capitol, and he's sticking to his angle well. I have the greatest hope for him. I clutch my breast as it swells with emotion as he steps into that tube, never looking at me, his eyes fastened to the sky, up at the arena waiting above for him. He soon disappears out of my sight, gone like that.

It's about time someone relieved Unity, and this boy could be the one.

* * *

 **Unity Carden, District Nine Mentor**

My hands shake as I help Sage slip off her shoes and put on her new ones. She's trying her best to push past the nerves and lock them away somewhere where they won't bother her until after the Bloodbath. She's doing admirably, but I want her to relax, so I'm helping her do the basic things like getting on her clothes so she can focus on psyching herself into the right state of mind for the Games. Her needs come before mine today.

Once her shoes are knotted tightly, fitting her feet snugly, I stand. She falls into my arms, squeezing me passionately, murmuring that she doesn't want to go just yet up into the bloody faux reality of a world waiting for her above. I know what she means; I'm not ready to lose yet another sweet girl to the throes of the Capitol ordained death match I'm forced to help with every single damn year. Sage has more chance than many of my tributes, but her portfolio is still rather slim.

She stays out of her tube until the voice is aggravated and informing her she has less than ten seconds to enter the tube before she is put in by Peacekeeper force. One of the white clad soldiers peers into the room, and she shuffles over to the tube and heaves herself inside. She's barely straightened when the tube carries its cargo up to the arena. It takes all of my will to walk calmly down the halls to the Control Center without screaming or running back to the tube to try and pull her out of the damned arena. I'm not ready to lose another one. I never am.

* * *

 **Oxen Bamby, District Ten Mentor**

I wish I could be more helpful to Rufus as his last moments free of the arena's clutches tick away into oblivion, but I'm useless to him. The tube room isn't brightly lit, and shadows cling to every corner, cranny, and nook. I see tiny movements in the dark spots, and I begin to tremble as the far off echoes of a young girl's scream a I kill her as she prepares to sleep fills my ears. The shaking intensifies, and Rufus looks at me like I'm crazy, which I am.

An Avox rushes in and gives Rufus his uniform. A Peacekeeper strolls in and starts to tell him the basics of what to do, ie put on clothes and get in the tube when the voice tells him to. The Avox escorts me out of the room with a beautiful, invigorating lantern clenched in her small pasty hands. I'm still shaking until we reach the Control Center. Hundreds of screens shed light across the spacious room, and my work space is cluttered with lamps, nightlights, and other sources of illumination. I collapse in my chair and the quivering subsides, and then I realize I've basically abandoned one of my tributes.

Well, fuck it. The thirteen year old has a better chance than him anyway.

* * *

 **Powder Lyanne, District Ten Stylist**

I knew Miriam was a tough girl, but she isn't crying, which is quite a feat for a girl of her age. Most thirteen year olds heading into the Games would be drowning in a sea of their own snot by now from sobbing so much. She's braver than most, more mature it seems too. However, her single tell, the slight quiver of her hands, betrays the fact that there's a violent storm roiling underneath the seemingly calm complexion of Miriam's face.

"You'll do great, darling," I dote, pulling her into a quick hug. "Knock them dead, Miriam."

"I'll have to do more than knock on them," she says in a weak attempt at a joke in a non-joking voice. I laugh anyway.

"Keep the audience entertained and stay on your toes at all times, and I'll see you back at the Victory Ceremony."

"I'll put it in my calendar, Powder."

* * *

 **Ygga Tossel, District Eleven Stylist**

My soul aches a little bit as I sit in the tube room with Omri. The nice boy puts on his arena uniform, trying to tamp down his nerves and look presentable. He's doing well, and that just makes me feel even guiltier. Here I am, given an amazing tribute with a serious chance of winning the Games, and I dressed him up in a potato sack for the chariots because I was too involved in my breakup with Alehenia. I have lost him many a sponsor because he didn't shine then like he needed to.

Tears pool in my eyes, and Omri takes notice. He asks me what's wrong as a few tears slip down my face. Thank Snow I put on the waterproof mascara today. I do have places to be after this, important places, like parties to rally sponsors for this magnificent tribute I have failed.

"I'm so sorry I didn't do more to help you!" I squeal, trying not to cry too much. "I never gave you a chance."

"You can give me a chance when I come back," he replies, stepping into his tube, and I really hope he does.

* * *

 **Pumpkin Little, District Eleven Mentor**

I hold back Soya's hair as she throws up in a pail given to us by an Avox after her first hurling incident splattered all across the nice orange dress I decided to wear to send her off. I've changed out of it into a bland gray smock, the only garment kept around her that fit me, and Soya's still trying to recover from her extreme anxiety which led her to throw up the too large breakfast she inhaled this morning.

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand when she's done and mumbles something about feeling better. I pat her on the back, making her let loose a sharp burp. She giggles a little and the bubbly, overly optimistic Soya is already chugging back to the station now that her queasiness has passed. She plasters on a big smile that wavers as she steps into the tube, and once again I wonder if it's all an act. I guess I'll never know unless by some obscene miracle Soya manages to make it back home. Not even the best of actresses can hold up against the grief of the Games and time.

* * *

 **Edna Trinket, District Twelve Escort**

When Lord first swaggered onto the stage after I plucked his name from the Reaping bowl to the chorus of catcalls, I had thought I'd found a tribute I could hate, a tribute where I wouldn't feel remorse when they inevitably died in the Games. However, Lord has been charming and savvy in his time here, if sometimes vulgar and crass, and I've developed a bit of a connection to him. It's not as major as it is with some tributes, but I'll still mourn his death, no matter how conniving he may be. No one really deserves the Games, no matter your crime or circumstances. That's what twenty two years of this job has taught me.

Lord puts on a brave, cocky mask as he prepares for the tubes. He doesn't talk to me much and just focuses on himself, which I'm fine with. Before he steps into his tube, he closes his eyes tight, scrunching them up so much it must hurt. He's thinking about something or someone, maybe praying. When his eyes open they're glinting with his usual snide bravado, but I've just witnessed him in a weaker moment, a vulnerable one, something I haven't seen before.

"Good luck!" I shout as he climbs into his tube. He waves absentmindedly to me as he's carried away.

* * *

 **Eris Glasshine, District Twelve Mentor**

Carmen's expression is a mixture of many emotions, a deadly cocktail of feelings that creates a horrid grimace on her face. Nerves for the Games, disgust with the Games, longing for her family and the past, grief at her infant son being taken from her, and a sliver of hope that she might be able to prevail somehow out in the arena. I don't speak to her about how she feels. I just reassure her, trying to get her into the right mindset so she can have a fighting chance at making it out of the Bloodbath.

Before she leaves to go up into the arena to face unknown horrors and to see untold deaths, probably including her own, she turns to me. She doesn't ask me to remember her or to do something to save or to make her casket oak like other tributes have. She asks me to keep watch over her family, making sure for the trillionth time that I have them covered, that I'll make sure Filippo gets a good home, be it in the Districts or the Capitol. I make all my promises to her once more, and then she skitters off into the tube as the voice warns her of the impending start of the Bloodbath.

As the plate under her feet begins to rise, the horrid grimace starts to shift into a determined glare, and for the first time I think Carmen might actually have more than a snowflake's chance in hell at winning these Games.

* * *

 **A/N: The Games are sooooooo close! School has officially begun, and I decided to use my last free night (the entire day was spent going through syllabuses, ewww) to get this out. The Countdown should be an easy chapter, but the Bloodbath is going to be massive and will probably take quite a while to come out. I hope you enjoyed this last glimpse at everyone!**

 **What do you guys think will happen? Which POVs did you especially like?**

 **Trivia:**

 **Into the Tubes (1 pt.): What is the arena uniform?**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	61. The Countdown

**_The Countdown_**

* * *

 ** _Gaia Imani, District Eight Female_**

I try my hardest to keep from shaking too badly as sun filters through the darkness of the tube. My head soon hits middling air, and I look around at the arena. Wide expanses of golden grass, as far as the eye can see, surround the ring of silvery pedestals that encircle the glimmering golden Cornucopia. Supplies are piled in the mouth, with more than usual spread out in the slippery mud between the Horn and the pedestals. The whole area's a little raised, probably the only thing besides some dark smudges on the horizon that breaks the never ending sea of prairie grass.

It's hard to hide in plain sight, and the only visible plant in the arena is this unidentifiable golden grass that surrounds me. My plans are already starting to swirl down the drain, and the pedestal hasn't even fully risen yet. There's a mechanic click, and I've fallen still.

To my left is the Three girl, her eyes narrowed as she surveys her surroundings. And to my left...is Zircon, the Career from One. The shaking starts to intensify. His appearance next to me should just make my plan to run away even easier, but I won't be able to sustain myself in this arena. What am I going to do here?! There's also the fact that my allies aren't as close as I'd like. Bernie and I are separated by two pedestals, which hold a Career and the strongest Outlier, while Sage and Carmen are next to each other a third of a way around the circle of pedestals.

The countdown starts with a holographic _60_ popping to life above the Horn, bright and enticing as it dances through the air, flickering to a _59._ I have 59 seconds to figure out what I'm going to do.

 _58...57...56..._

* * *

 ** _Rufus Braunvieh, District Ten Male_**

My breathing gets heavier once the countdown starts. I try to reign in myself, to keep myself in check and to keep myself from being distracted. The arena isn't very inviting for Outliers like myself, who are going in for a few outer supplies and then plan on hiding for the rest of the Games. All there is is grass, and any landmark where one can hide will be targeted by the Careers as one of the few noticeable breaks in the landscape where someone would hide. I knew I should've spent more time at camouflage.

The sassy Seven girl stands to my right, her eyes flipping over everyone else and then looking at the supplies situated near us. My eyes lock on a delicious looking bottle of water leaning up against a short serrated dagger about fifteen yards away on a mound of harder mud. The slippery surface of the Cornucopia field is dangerous, but there's no way I'm wandering off into the wilderness without anything at all to sustain me. I'd rather die quickly than be tortured to death by natural causes for weeks. Cordelia, the girl from Four, to my right, might be able to help out with that. She looks scarier than ever.

I keep my eyes locked on the water bottle and the dagger as the time continues to tick away.

 _55...54...53...52...51..._

* * *

 ** _Chavez Belasco, District Four Male_**

My smile doesn't seem to unnerve the two Outliers on either side of me, and that aggravates me. They're two of the strongest Outliers this year, the guys from Seven and Nine, and they're both dangerous. The Seven boy gives me a few anxious glances, but the Nine boy never looks my way after spotting me soon after we ascended from the catacombs. It just makes me want to kill him more.

I don't give the arena more than a cursory look. I know it's natural, I know it's flat, and I know it'll be hard for Outliers to hide from my knives and whatever other weapons I choose to use. The perfect arena for a Career, and I plan to make the most of it. My eyes are trained on the Cornucopia and the ring of tributes, studying the layout of supplies and which weapon to pick up. A belt of throwing knives is propped out against the tail end of the Horn, right in my sight. My biggest adversary, Ardin, is exactly on the opposite side of the field. We've made a truce to at least stick together past the Bloodbath. I would be able to take any of them, but that deal is what got me the leadership role, so I begrudgingly made it. One never knows what might happen in the heat of the moment however...

 _50...49...48...47...46..._

* * *

 ** _Soya Chaffer, District Eleven Female_**

My eyes are wide open in fear, and not because I'm next to the Seven boy, who's a criminal and probably would be willing to kill me. In that catacomb room, I realized that there's a chance that fate might not be in my favor, that just because I lost my dad doesn't mean I get to survive this. That Seven boy lost his parents and went to jail. That's worse than me, so shouldn't he win if fate chooses the Victor that way? I can die today, and I probably will. That makes my knees quiver.

Lord is almost halfway across the field from me. I don't know if I'll be able to get to him. But that's not what has my eyes wide open in fear. It's not the arena theme either; it's sort of similar to home, although the Nines will feel more comfortable. What bothers me are the dark shapes growing on the horizon.

Everyone in Eleven knows a tornado when they see one. Others are starting to notice. The Nine boy's head snaps back and I see the first bit of fear out of him the whole time we've been in the Games. Tornadoes. Tornadoes, coming full speed at the Bloodbath.

It takes all my willpower not to just give up and step off of my pedestal now. I'll stay alive at least until the Bloodbath, and try to get to Lord. I don't know if I can, however.

 _45...44...43...42...41..._

* * *

 _ **Fuji LaMac, District Three Female**_

My eyes swivel across the plain, looking around for my allies even more frantically after spotting what must be a twister on the horizon. I know Omri is a couple of pedestals to my right, Ivy a few to my left, but I'm looking for Millard. I finally spot him, most of him blocked by a large crate filled with supplies. We make eye contact, and he nods ever so lightly as a signal that he's got my back. That eases things just a tad.

My game plan is swirling in my head, and it's becoming fuzzy. The tornadoes, which most people have spotted at this point, are nearing, and they fully destroy all rhyme and reason behind what to do at the Bloodbath. One can only presume that they're rushing towards us to fuck with us during the opening minutes, shrouded by a horde of dark gray clouds and whistling winds. It doesn't seem quite natural, probably because it's created by the Gamemakers. They're rapidly getting closer, and they make the golden prairie wheat ripple like water when a pebble hits its surface. I don't know what the hell I'm going to do now. I just know I need to get to Millard above all else.

 _40...39...38...37...36..._

* * *

 ** _Luke Saturn, District Nine Male_**

Chavez keeps glancing my way, sneering and baring his teeth like the dogs that try to steal scraps from the trash back in my village. He's trying to intimidate me. If he wants to be more successful with that, he should turn elsewhere. Yeah sure, I'm buzzing inside with anxiety, but I'm not letting anyone see that. My mask has taken years of practice, but now it's so natural and it fits so snugly that I don't even need to put effort into it. He's not going to get a reaction out of me.

My eyes spot a scythe sticking out of the Horn, and two sickles lying in the mud five yards from the tail of the structure. Weapons of mass destruction; if I get either of them, I bet I can defend myself enough to make it out. But do I want or need to take that chance? The tornadoes are dangerous (I sensed them the moment we rose up here) and I'm going to be the tribute most familiar with this arena. I can survive off of the land here while the others begin to starve and get picked off one by one. My plan was always to run in a get things, but now my plans may have changed. All I know is I'm the best off Outlier in this arena right now.

 _35...34...33...32...31..._

* * *

 _ **Tyberios Palatium, District Two Male**_

My entire body is thrumming with nerves. I can almost hear the sound of all of the atoms in my body bouncing off of one another. I would jump around the make sure everything keeps going and the pain in my head is still eased if I wasn't wary of my large weight setting off the explosives by moving about so much. My eyes are locked on a couple of swords inside the Cornucopia that look like they can do some major damage, and then there's two large bladed axes, one for me and one for Trinity. She's basically on the other side of the ring of pedestals, but we're both Careers. Instead Chavez or Ardin decide to go all rogue on us we don't have anything to worry about. We'll be a formidable force fighting together thirty seconds from now, taking down tributes left and right.

My mind is rushing a million miles an hour, and the relief from the pure adrenaline is so much better than anything a pill could give me. My mind feels clear and the air feels alive, although that might be the twisters winding their way towards the Cornucopia. I just hope they don't mess with me too much. That would be real fucked up to break my leg or something because of a dumb Gamemaker twist before I even got to land a single kill. I've just got to stay useful and stay clear minded until it's time to split from the pack, and I won't have a problem with anyone.

 _30...29...28...27...26..._

* * *

 ** _Bernie Areli, District Five Female_**

I'm trying to be strong. I won't cry I don't think, but I'm shaking like crazy and breathing like I just ran a half marathon. The skies are darkening as the tornadoes get closer and closer. They taunt me, swirling the world beneath them into a mess. I can't even imagine what they'll do to this area. I feel like I might be having a panic attack. My heart hammers loud and hard against my chest, and I bite my lip to keep from making any embarrassing sound of fear.

The loud Twelve guy's on my right, while the strong Eleven dude's on my left. I don't think either of them will necessarily go after me, but there's six Careers out there and one of them isn't that far from me. Tyberios's eyes drift over to mine for a split second, and I'm chilled to the bone by the excited grin plastered on his brutishly handsome face. The shaking intensifies, but I keep my feet planted firmly. I am not falling off. I'm not going out that way. I'll enjoy my last spare couple of minutes of life.

 _25...24...23...22...21_

* * *

 ** _Baron Arbor, District Seven Male_**

Grandma Circe often mentioned omens and such when she'd tell her fantasy tales of magic and heroism in days gone by, when dragons flapped through the air and men bore silvery armor with pride instead of white armor with snarls. The black cat, a magic mark, or a gathering storm. The dark clouds and rapidly approaching twisters mean only one thing to me; luck is not on my side today. However, luck isn't on the side of everyone here I guess, so we're at an even level again.

Chavez stands proudly next to me, cracking his knuckles, and it takes all my willpower not to show my fear by being placed right next to him. I know I've been put here for a reason, probably under Snow's orders. The girl on the other side of me looks familiar, and it takes me a while to puzzle out that she's the girl from Eleven who's been hanging out with the Twelve guy. She shaking like a leaf, and her customary glittery smile is gone for the first time since I've seen her. That's why I didn't recognize her.

I survey the supplies in front of me, choosing which ones I want. They're all in the direction away from Chavez, that's for sure. As I make my selections, I can see the time slipping away too fast. The roar of the artificial tornadoes as they near is worrying, and it takes all my energy to keep my eyes on the prize: surviving the Bloodbath with supplies and my health intact.

 _20...19...18...17...16..._

* * *

 _ **Carmen Ionique-Astron, District Twelve Female**_

I still feel jittery from leaving the tube, and standing here with the wind now getting sharper and the world a bit darker, my stomach starts to churn. I don't like this, not one bit. I try to put on my brave face again but I'm so queasy it probably just looks like I'm trying to make a funny face and failing at it. The wind buffets my body and I pray that I don't waver and fall in this unstable state. I want to at least have a shot at survival.

Keeping my feet firmly planted, I look at the two people next to me again. Sage is to my right, and she tries to smile at me, but it doesn't quite come out. I mouth "I love you" and she nods, mouthing the words in return. I know there's a slim chance both of us make it out, and I wouldn't be surprised if all four of us got killed within the next hour. That thought just leads to bad places, and I shut it down, focusing on my destination: running away, and running away fast. Well, as fast as someone like me can go.

 _15...14...13...12...11..._

* * *

 _ **Libby Miles, District Six Female**_

Is this another hallucination from my Torcido's? There's no way they'd be sending tornadoes at us, but I can feel the wind full on and the air smells sort of like it does when it rains, just more chemically charged due to the fact it's artificially whipped up by the Gamemakers if it even is real. My mind is spinning fifty miles a minute and all I can focus on are the two water bottles a mere fifteen yards from my pedestal. Run, grab them, and run out. I can deal with everything else except water. I just hope that those water bottles are actually real.

This whole experience is mind boggling. Is what I see real? Or is it just my imagination, even though I can touch and feel and experience all of the fake things and not remember a single thing about what actually happened? I just want to slam my head against the ground and get this out. I just want to be normal, I just want my head to work correctly. I want to stitch together my life again and see what actually happened back home. I bet Anaya didn't die mysteriously, she probably got killed in a shootout or something. My parents probably hate me and I probably don't get A's in my classes. And I definitely wasn't clean.

I know I'm not going to make it, but I wish I was so I could figure this out for once.

 _10...9...8...7...6..._

* * *

 ** _Zircon O'Dile, District One Male_**

So little time left. I'm excited to get the ball rolling, but I'm not hopping around a little like Tyberios, grinning prettily with an icy undertone like Trinity, or trying to intimidate the others like Chavez. I just stare ahead at the Horn and at the spear I want, getting my game face on. It's time to fight and it's time to put away the party Zircon. I played my heart out in the Capitol, but I did that just to have my last hurrah in the unfortunate yet unlikely event that I don't make it out of here. Now I've turned on the serious Zircon. I'll still crack jokes and stuff to keep up my Academy-approved persona, but I have my eyes on the prize now and I'm not taking them off for a single second.

The tornadoes are close, dangerously close, and the sharp winds snap across me, making goosebumps pop up on my arms. As the last seconds drain away, I'm surprised no one tumbles off of their pedestal from the harsh blowing wind and blows up. I narrow my eyes and get ready to leap off of my pedestal and to grab my weapon and fight tooth and nail against some Outliers. I'm ready for this. I'm ready to prove myself.

 _5...4...3...2...1..._

 _LET THE TWENTY SECOND ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES COMMENCE!_

* * *

 **A/N: ONE CHAPTER AWAY I AM SCREAMING GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!**

 **So, last minute predictions? Throw everything you've got at me, I'm curious to see what you all think I have planned!**

 **What did you think of the twist with the tornadoes? How will they effect the Bloodbath? Who will be the first casualty?**

 **You may start sending sponsorship gifts after the Bloodbath, so total up those points and decide what you want, and remember that prices go up every day! For reference, check the sponsorship chapter. If you don't feel like counting them all, just estimate. Most of you got the right answers and I don't want to list the 40 plus questions I haven't listed the answers for so...yeah XD**

 **If you were curious about full pedestal order, this is it, going from due north clockwise:**

 **Chavez, Luke, Miriam, Fender, Tyberios, Lord, Bernie, Omri, Zircon, Gaia, Fuji, Calico, Ardin, Jayce, Ivy, Rufus, Cordelia, Sage, Carmen, Millard, Trinity, Libby, Soya, Baron.**

 **P.S. These 12 were the tributes not highlighted in the "Meet the Stylists" portion of the Pre-Parade chapter; I wasn't choosing favorites or anything. I do like most of these tributes however :)**

 **Trivia:**

 **Countdown (1 pt.) - Who was the first POV to identify the tornadoes by name?**

 **Until Next Time AT THE FRICKING BLOODBATH!,**

 **Tracee**


	62. The Bloodbath

**Before this begins, I just want to make a short statement. I love all of you who review consistently, and I love pretty much all of these tributes. Please do not take personal offense if your tribute dies. Some of the Bloodbath picks were very difficult for me to make but are essential to keep the story driving forward. I am doing what will make the best story, not necessarily basing it on how much someone reviews, how many tributes they have in, how popular a tribute is, etc. etc. although unpopular tributes whose submitters are inactive won't last too long. I have made a solid, thorough Games plan, and while I doubt it will change it might. Anyway, tl,dr: Don't take this personally, and I'm sorry we had to lose some great tributes. I hope you have fun, and enjoy what is FINALLY here, the kickoff of the main event, folks...**

 **THE BLOODBATH! :D**

 **P.S. POV lengths may be somewhat inconsistent based purely on the fact of how much I needed to tell from each POV to make this chapter work the way I needed it to :)**

 **P.P.S. Don't skip to the bottom there aren't any obituaries to spoil for you, as I wanted to make sure you experience it without spoilers (I always spoil myself so I didn't want to ruin it for any of you xD)**

* * *

 **Trinity Vegas, 18**

 **District One Female**

* * *

The moment I hear Nuntius roaring that the Games have begun, I hurl myself off of my platform, sprinting for the mouth of the Horn. I can see Tyberios closing in as well; we're both headed for the pair of axes sitting quaintly for us in the mouth of the Cornucopia. The winds snap across me, and I see the Six girl stumble and fall to the ground from the fierce winds and slippery mud. She crawls towards a pair of water bottles, ignoring everyone around her.

I run past her, my long legs carrying me quickly towards the mouth of the Horn. Luckily I have good balance, or I'd have wiped out on this mud. Tributes swarm the area, and I try to make out certain faces, but it's so dark I can only recognize Tyberios because of his muscly build, and Ardin because of her graceful stride. Ardin darts off to find whatever weapon she wants in another direction, but Tyberios and I continue to barrel forward towards the same meeting point. I have an edge on him with speed, and I reach the axes first.

Screams start to fill the air as the tornadoes whip closer. One veers off to the west, but the other two crash through the field. Instead of going right for the weapons, I hurl myself inside the Cornucopia, hunkering down with my hands over my neck and head, hoping to avoid any debris that might be flung my way. I feel Tyberios's bulky body push beside my own as we wait. The wind is fierce and a tent slaps against me, but it doesn't hurt that bad. Soon the winds start to ease up, and I leap to my feet. Tyberios rises right behind, and we grab the handle of the same axe. I give him a quick smile as he grabs the other one, and then we race out into the muddy field.

All the supplies have been thrown left and right, and many tributes are on the ground in tornado position, just starting to hesitantly emerge from their protective holds. Chavez is already battling one of the stronger Outlier boys, and Cordelia is getting weapons. I can't see where Ardin or Zircon are; they're probably on the other side of the field, obscured by the Horn.

A boy not too far away is coated in mud, and as he tries to stand he falls again, the mud slick underneath him where he's fallen. He has a dagger in his hand that he's accidentally stabbed himself in the arm with, and the remnants of a pulverized sleeve of crackers surround him. He gets to his feet again and looks in my eyes as I lift my arms back, the axe glinting excitedly as I bring it down with force on his head. His head splits open violently, blood pouring out, and he falls back into the mud, not taking in another breath. A quick kill; the first kill of the Games. I don't think about how that makes me feel; this isn't the time for that.

It isn't the first kill for long. More moans and screams fill the air, attracting us bloodthirsty killers. As I've taken down this boy, whose now bloody shirt sports a dark brown 10 on each shoulder, Tyberios has run off to attack a girl that's frantically trying to outrun him. My eyes turn away from him to where slow yet desperate movement and pained groans grab my attention.

A girl is leaning against her platform, heaving and trying to crawl away. One of her legs is bloody and limp, broken after she presumably was hit by the tornado and thrown to the ground. She's on the far side of the pedestal, so she must've been trying to run away, and then got swept up and spit out. She's crying quietly and pulling herself down the slight slope towards the grass, leaving a bloody trail in the mud behind her. More screams echo behind me as I stalk after her.

She spots me and her eyes open wide in utter fear. Any emotion I'd have from seeing her like that is swept away by my mind reflexively before I can examine it. There's a reason Victors get such a long time between their Victories and their Victory Tours. They need the time to start sorting through everything they buried during the Games. I will kill, and I will fight, and in the end, either I'll die or I'll survive and come out of this stronger. Kill by kill, I will become harder.

"Please," she whimpers as I close in, only a few steps away. I don't waver, and she notices. In one last desperate attempt to escape, she tries to fling herself backwards into the grass, just to get as far away from me as she physically can. She ends up just rolling further down the small slope, and I close the short distance between us, axe raised. She shrieks as I bury the edge of my axe between her shoulder blades twice before drawing back. She's just a limp puddle sobbing in the mud, and there's no saving her. She was doomed the moment she broke her leg; no, the moment her name was pulled from the ball in Eight. That's the number on her sleeve.

I lope back up to the flat Cornucopia field, where the mud is slicker than before from the bloodshed and frenzied running. My eyes swivel around for more victims as I leave behind my gasping second kill, not even really thinking about what I've just done, just looking for another kill to make. I'm not the pretty girl from One who hides in the Cornucopia or avoids making kills while her allies do all the dirty work like usual. If Esquiria wants me to break my stereotype, fuck, I'll break it. She didn't even have to ask.

* * *

 **Lord Parthenia, 16**

 **District Twelve Male**

* * *

After the countdown ends, I run straight for the Horn. It's dangerous, sure, but especially with this plain arena, there isn't going to be much to sustain myself and Soya out here, especially for myself if we get separated. Soya could probably find something out here to eat with her farm know how, but if I'm out there alone, there's a big chance I'll starve and I'm toast, so I've gotta go for the supplies.

Mid-run, I see two of the giant storm things closing in. I don't know the exact name for them (that's what dropping out of school early gets you) but I know they're dangerous as hell. I see a guy hurl himself behind a crate and get in a position with his hands over his head, curled up in a ball. I scuttle over to another crate, this one half filled with empty canteens and extra pieces of clothes pretty close to the side of the Cornucopia. It seems pretty light, but hopefully heavy enough that it won't move around with me inside of it. I pull the lid over my head and hunker down.

The winds are fierce, and the crate begins to rattle violently. Suddenly it tips, and I try to keep quiet as it tumbles for a few seconds, falling still somewhere I can't predict. Something sharp jabs me in between the ribs, and I hiss, flinching away. I touch my abdomen; no blood, but I was close to stabbing myself. Great start, eh? The roar of the disaster is fading. My fingers hook around the sharp thing: a dagger. Good. I use the blade to help pop off the stubborn top of the crate, and then I crawl out.

The crate's been thrown to its side a distance from the Horn. People are starting to get up from their defensive positions in the mud, and a few people are wounded. Two of the Careers stalk out of the Cornucopia with axes, and the girl, the princess from One, hacks open the head of a guy trying to get to his feet. My eyes open wide, and I look around nervously for Soya. The Bloodbath's really starting now, and we need to get out quick.

I spot Soya sprawled out on the ground not too far away, maybe a sixth of the circular field to the left from me. She's just tripped; I saw her fall and land all splayed out like that. A chunk of sharpened wood, debris from the disasters, is lodged in her right thigh, and her eyes are full of fear. The source of that fear comes into my line of sight in moments. The One boy, with a silvery spear held tightly in his hands, looms over her.

I start to my feet, but it's too little, too late. I freeze out of cowardice, and the Career jabs his weapon into Soya's stomach. She gurgles incoherently as he stabs again in the same spot, and then a third time in the throat. She barely stirs, her body going slack after that last wound. All I see is red, but I know it's ludicrous to confront a Career.

I'm glued to the spot, and the thing that gets me moving is the Career girl from Four. She's found probably the only trident in the Cornucopia and is loping towards me on her short legs, looking shaky but determined. She's pretty fast, but I have a longer stride and some time to escape. I spot an olive green pack on the ground several feet away. I make a break for it, swinging it over my shoulder before running for my life away from the Horn and down the slight slope into the sea of golden grass. I can only hope there's food and water in here, or I may be royally screwed.

The Four girl pauses at the edge of the grass. It's taller here, and she could easily get lost in it. She doesn't want me sneaking up on her. She's not quite ready to take risks yet, or maybe her fear just plain compels her to turn around and run back onto the Cornucopia field to look for easier victims. Either way, she doesn't pursue, and I've escaped unscathed.

My legs soon become heavy as my pace gradually slows. I don't want to tire myself out too bad. I go until I'm at least a mile or two from the Cornucopia; it's just a tiny glittering blip on the quickly darkening horizon. Then I begin to walk, sure, at a decent pace, but it's slower than running. Night swallows up the prairie around me as I march on, looking for anything that could provide cover as I try to shove the images of death, especially Soya's, out of my head.

I could've saved her. Sure, I wouldn't have ever made it to her side, but I could've tried. It's the effort that counts. Actions speak multitudes, and I stood their like a coward and hid in a crate instead of fighting my way to her. Sure, I did the smart thing for my individual survival. But that girl...she was a sweet one. Too sweet for here, that's sure. She would've never made it out alive, and I'm kidding myself if I believe I could've done something. But it still stings. I may be a grand asshole oftentimes, but if I establish that emotional connection with you, it's like a holy covenant. I only let so many people in, even though I do so with pretty girls like Soya more than I should. But I hold onto every shred of those girls to bring some blissful meaning into my life, but it never comes. It never will.

I keep trudging on, determined to find somewhere as dusk sets in. Eight cannons fire, signaling the end of the Bloodbath, where Soya and seven others have been lost. I'm nearly sure none of the Careers are gone, and that just makes things harder. Oh well. Beggars can't be choosers, that's for sure.

* * *

 **Baron Arbor, 16**

 **District Seven Male**

* * *

I try not to howl as a metal water bottle, flung by the force of the tornado winds, smacks into my side. That'll leave an ugly bruise. I curl up tighter, crawling towards an area where a few crates might provide shelter. Before I manage to get there however, one topples and another is blown away. I grab a nearby dagger, stab it into the mud, and hold onto the handle for dear life so I'm not ripped away. I see a girl dancing in the area, screaming, picked up by the tornado, and I feel like I'm in a fantastical storybook, not in a life or death competition. I can barely hear anything over the vicious sounds of the tornado.

It doesn't take long for the tornado's force to dwindle as it lumbers on its way, but it's long enough to wreck major havoc on us tributes and the Bloodbath field around us. Supplies are strewn everywhere, many of them broken, and several tributes are hurt, most still cowering in their defensive positions. I know this is a good chance to grab some supplies I wouldn't normally risk getting, as most people are still afraid to emerge.

I stand up and yank the dagger out of the mud, wiping off the sharp blade on my shorts. It cuts a little into the fabric; the point is deadly, the blade fine and dangerous. It's not my optimal weapon but it will do for the moment. My eyes quickly take in the area around me, and I'm floored at a nearby discovery.

The Four boy, Chavez, is laying on the ground a mere ten feet away, gasping for air and weaponless. He's curled up, his arms clutching one of his sides, his eyes scrunched in pain. I start to back up towards a nearby pack, but the chance of easily eliminating the strongest player in these Games is too enticing. I pick up a rock and fling it at him from a safe distance just to see how he reacts. I have to decide quickly; others are starting to come around to their senses, including the other Careers besides Chavez.

The rock thunks him in the back and he flinches but doesn't look to see who did it. He has to be seriously injured. I make my decision and roll with it, loping across the ground towards him, dagger lofted high in the air. In a glittering arc, I bring it down towards his exposed neck-

Chavez hurtles to his feet and cracks a baton he must've been laying on top of across the arm holding the dagger, causing me to lose my hold of it. It lands in the mud at his feet, and I also spot a belt of throwing knives, his favorite if him spending half of training there was any indication, nearby. But he doesn't go for either, just smiling wickedly as he kicks my left knee, sending my legs buckling. I should've been smarter, and known he was just luring me into attacking him, a method to bait a tribute like myself that usually has sense.

I land face first in an especially muddy patch. I push up with my hands, hacking mud out of my mouth, but the baton cracks across the back of my head, sending it crashing back into the mud. I cough and splutter into the dirt, but something holds my face against the ground, probably his foot or knee. I fight, but it's useless. I can barely gasp in any air like this, and I'm clogging up any airspace with mud as I struggle and writhe. Right as I think I'm about to lose it the pressure fades.

I flip onto my back to scuttle away, spitting out a clod of mud and trying to breathe again. Before I can pull in a full breath however, Chavez is pushing me back against the ground again, the belt of throwing knives clipped to his waist, one held in his right hand right above my throat. I guess he didn't want to chance anyone else taking them. In one last desperate attempt I flail my arms and legs around, but the throwing knife, being utilized like a dagger, is already in transit. He jabs downwards, and if anything, my kicks and squirming just send him lurching further forward as he buries the weapon in my neck.

He draws it out and rises to his feet, quickly darting off to go find some other prey while I lay there, wheezing out my last few moments of life. Blood is everywhere, staining the chest region of my tan shirt maroon, cascading down my neck and intermingling with the mud as I try desperately to stand, taking a moment to realize that this is the end, and that no poultice or elixir can save me. Nothing can save me now, nothing can show the world that my family and friends aren't wretched rebels. I'm dying in the Bloodbath, showing the world that the Coven is something worse than rebellious: it's insignificant.

I failed them. Of course that has to be my dying thought.

* * *

 **Fuji LaMac, 17**

 **District Three Female**

I swear there's something more in this wind than the force that inexorably pushes it forward. The stirring of the air has made something primal arise within me, or maybe it's just the adrenaline. But as the wind gushes around me, whistling in my ears shrilly, I don't pause and hunker down like many other tributes. I keep moving, running against the wind, eyes scrunched in focus, towards Millard's pedestal, where he cowers, hiding from the tornado.

I just saw him on the opposite side of the clearing, barely able to be made out and mostly obscured by the Cornucopia, and something broke or fit together, whichever way you want to puzzle it. I was in need of assistance and backup here, someone who would help me out if I needed it as I tried to swallow my fear, and I saw Millard. He's reliable. I couldn't curb the urge. Instead of running along the rim of the circle and grabbing some supplies before meeting up due south like we're supposed to do according to our plan, I ran straight for him. I don't care for Omri and I blatantly don't trust Ivy. They're stronger than me and are closer with one another than myself. I can't sleep at night with them watching guard over me. I just need to get to Millard, grab some things, grab his hand, and get out of here before Ivy and Omri can catch us.

Despite my determination, the winds are too strong, and I'm forced to fall to my knees near the side of the Horn closest to Millard's pedestal to avoid a lantern that's been swung into the air by the tornado. I hear a girl scream and I can only imagine what horrible thing the tornado is doing to her. I brace myself against the metal side of the Cornucopia as the winds switch directions constantly, sometimes slamming into me, sometimes blowing the opposite way for a moment. In those seconds I'm protected by the Cornucopia, which blocks the wind.

The delirium doesn't last for too long, however. Soon the winds die away, and I can see the massive system whirling away through the prairie, slowly extracting itself from the premises. It takes a few moments to shake myself out of the trance the vicious gusts sent me into, and then I'm lurching to my feet, sprinting towards Millard's pedestal.

My ally peeks his head over his pedestal, and our eyes meet. All around us commotion is resuming again. Screams paint the air with a sickening symphony, and I can see blood trickling across the slippery earth out of the corner of my eye. Already many of the smarter or more apt tributes are on their way out with what they were able to gather, and I catch a glimpse of Ivy's blond hair fluttering behind her as she and Omri look around wildly for us, making their way down the south side of the tiny plateau the Cornucopia's perched on top of. I bet she's seen us, but she and Omri aren't chancing sticking around for much longer.

"Fuji, come on, we've gotta go," Millard mutters urgently, and I realize I've zoned out in the middle of the damn Bloodbath, standing next to his platform. He grabs my hand and tugs me towards the south, and it's obvious he plans to intercept Omri and Ivy.

"We can't go with them," I insist. "They can't be trusted."

"We talked about this, Fuji," Millard replies firmly, grabbing a bag on the ground some feet away, his eyes flitting around in fear. "We stay with them for a night or so at the least. We need to leave now."

"We're going north," I interject, tugging him towards me now that he's back in distance. "Come on!"

"Fujitsa LaMac, for fuck's sake-" he begins, and then his mouth falls open as a silvery spearhead juts out of his chest.

I scream, backing away as Millard falls, blank eyed and motionless to the ground, life already quickly seeping from his body. My eyes flicker up to where the One boy stands some fifteen feet away, having just thrown the spear into his back so hard it poked out of his chest. The agony rips through me but the adrenaline and instincts surging inside are stronger. I cut south instinctively, knowing that while I may not trust a single word out of Ivy's mouth, being with her and Omri is better than being alone. They have supplies and strength while I have neither at the moment.

I flee down the slope and into the golden grass as the One boy lopes over to Millard...well, probably by now his corpse...and tugs out the spear. That sight just makes me run harder, and I tumble into the grass, propelling myself by swinging my arms like a madman. I aim south, well, as well south as I can, trying to keep pretty low. My dark hair and skin will stand out against this grass. Thankfully I'm not the tallest girl in the world, and I probably don't look too stupid running with a minimally bent back. The grass gets shorter the farther I get from the Horn however, going from probably neck height right at the bottom of the slope to about chest height now, about a minute or two of running later.

I guess the Career boy didn't want to chance getting lost in the grass chasing me, because he's nowhere in sight unless he's crawling across the ground like a ravenous snake, ready to strike at any second. I wouldn't put it past him. I keep my legs churning, every now and then pausing for a single moment to get a glimpse of the Horn to make sure I'm heading south. The mouth of it opens to the south, and soon enough I'm right in line with it.

By now, at this distance the grass is at about navel height, and it seems like it's going to stay about that height for at least a while in this area. I'm far enough from the Horn that I'd only be a barely noticeable dark brown dot among the sea of golden grass from the Career's vantage point. They might just mistake me for a mud puddle if they didn't keep watching and see said mud puddle moving around like a madwoman. I'm at least a mile from the Horn, and I collapse to the ground with a sigh, the grass rising over me and disguising me.

I lay there for about twenty minutes until I hear nearby rustling. My eyes shoot open; the Careers must have begun to hunt after they finished up slaughtering the weakest at the Bloodbath. Now they're already hunting, going after the slightly stronger members of the weak, which include myself if you haven't figured it out. All Outliers are weak in their eyes. I get on my hands and knees, starting to army crawl away as fast as I can without making too much noise or movement in the grass.

"Fuji!" I hear Omri's voice say in a loud whisper voice. I immediately pause and crawl back towards the sound. In moments my two other allies come into sight. Ivy is standing with one hand blocking the sun, looking around for me, while Omri inspects the ground where I'd been laying, studying the broken stalks of grass and the scuffs in the dirt from me pushing off with my shoes to start crawling.

"Here," I murmur, and Omri's head turns. He smiles weakly at me, beckoning me over, and I shakily stand, striding over. Ivy spots me as well, and she gives me a cursory smile that fades to a faint frown the moment she turns away. I narrow my eyes but don't say anything.

"It's good to see you," Omri tells me, clasping me in a loose hug. I just nod my head, not even bringing my arms up to embrace him back. He lets me go quickly, noticing something is off but not saying anything about it.

"Let's get going," is all I say, walking off. They seem startled a bit but just follow me, chatting quietly and basically ignoring me for the most part. I bite my lip in annoyance, but my eyes flick back and see the heavy laden packs on their shoulders and the throwing knives clipped to Omri's waist. Ivy probably has enough sponsors to get her beloved hatchet. I don't even have enough to get a single waterproof match most likely. I just need to stick with them for their supplies for now, simple as that. Beggars can't be choosers. I just hope I decide they're expendable before they decide I'm not useful enough to keep around. It's a race to see who will break the pact first, and I can see the end already in sight for us. I don't have a problem breaking my word. I hope they do.

* * *

 **Jayce Newman, 17**

 **District Five Male**

I guess the Gamemakers felt like being fair this year, or more likely they just wanted to make things harder for everyone. Most years they lump allies together, putting them a pedestal or two apart at most. But most people are spread out: the Careers are spread evenly among us, and Miriam's on the opposite side of the Cornucopia field from me. We'd talked about our strategy, but we'd neglected to think of what we'd do if we were literally on opposite sides during the start. It just never came to mind, and now we're going to have to come up with an impromptu decision as a tornado bears down on us.

I leap off of my pedestal the moment the countdown finishes. I tear across the raised, circular muddy field that the pedestals ring as the tornado's blusters hit me harder and harder. Most of the tributes, acting intelligently, curl up in balls or hide behind things to protect themselves. Well, I'm not that intelligent if we're going to be honest, and why should I even care? I just need to get Miriam out of here at the least. If some stupid winds fuck me up, well then I'm fucked. I'm fucked whichever way I go, be it left, right, up, down, or center. It feels good to fight something impenetrable, even if it is just for a couple of moments before the winds knock me to the ground and I get in the tornado position to protect my head from projectiles.

Some things thunk against my back, and I lose my hold on the ground for a moment, going tumbling before I latch onto a machete planted in the ground. That anchors me long enough for the winds to fade as the tornado moves on, and then I hurl myself to my feet, charging towards Miriam's pedestal, the machete in my hand.

I reach there as commotion begins to fill the area around me; I was one of the first to recover, and now everyone else is emerging, and the true Bloodbath has begun as I watch Trinity, the female from One, plant her axe in one of the other Outlier males. The sight makes me even more frantic, and I look around Miriam's pedestal with vigor, determined to find her. That's when I realize my folly; Miriam isn't at her pedestal. Why would she be? She probably ran towards me, or ran flat away.

My eyes scan the Bloodbath field, seeing more than enough gore. Bile creeps up into the back of my throat as I watch the girl from Two strike down a girl with a wickedly curved dagger. She shrieks as blood gushes from the large cut on her stomach, and the Two girl finishes it, plunging her blade into the girl's sternum. She gasps and falls onto the Two girl, who shoves her off and looks around for more victims. I kneel behind the pedestal and jump to my feet once her sight moves away from me, continuing my search for Miriam.

I spot her with a wine colored bag slung over her shoulder, tumbling across the muddy field towards me. Her eyes dart around frantically and she keeps her head down, moving as fast as she can to get to me. I decide to close the distance towards her, my machete held tight in my fist. I sprint as fast as my tiring body can carry me. We meet close to her pedestal, as she was closing in on it, and I'm slow as hell and getting worn out already. I guess that's what having a terminal illness does to you, eh?

"Come on Miriam," I say, reaching to take the pack from her. "We've got to get going."

"Of course doofus!" she grunts, shrugging away from my reach. "And I can take the pack. You're tired as it is."

"Miriam, I can handle it," I insist. I grab the pack and pull it off her shoulder, but she fights it. In the action, we spin, with her now closer to the pedestal, and with my back to the Cornucopia, closer to it. The pack dangles from my fingers, but it slides out as Miriam's horrified face tells me everything I need to know. The shock passes in several seconds, and I can feel the blade lodged in between my shoulder blades.

"Go," I implore, and she just nods frantically, picking up the wine colored pack from where I've dropped it as I collapse to the ground. Another knife flies overhead, directed at Miriam, but it misses her right shoulder by a few inches. She picks it up from where it's landed at the bottom of the slope. I can barely see her, and she looks worried and desperate. I eyes meet and I try to yell at her to run again, but I can't get anything out. She takes a deep breath and disappears into the tall golden grass, just a tad taller than her, and I can't even see her within five seconds. Apparently her attacker isn't willing to investigate, instead turning his or her attentions to me, the boy who looks like he just sacrificed himself for his ally even though it was just dumb coincidence.

"It felt good to take someone down with a thrown knife," Chavez muses. I recognize his purring voice from the interviews. We were only one apart, and as he walked off of the stage, smirking, his eyes met mine and he winked ever so casually. He probably did similar things to every Outlier, just in case he got "lucky" enough to kill them; they'd remember said seemingly insignificant moment, and he'd be their last thought. It's wicked, and I shove it out and replace it with Delilah's smiling face and the embrace of my parents. However, there is no final blow. No mercy kill.

"I'm going to just leave you to bleed," he scoffs. "Make your friend and the others running for their lives out there wonder why the cannons aren't firing. Make them think we've killed all the others. Drive them mad before the first night's even through. How does that sound?"

Too weak to make a sound, but if I could, holy Snow the words I would be hurling at him. It would be enough to bruise his precious ego and make him polish me off. But I don't have enough left in me; I'm stuck in a state of too weak to live, but too strong to die. I'm not going to escape this limbo for a long time. My death is inescapable, but I don't know exactly when it will come about, only that it will be soonish, but not too soon. It's exactly the same as my reality for the past several months, and I don't feel the urge to cry or beg or writhe in the mud as a last desperate attempt to be meaningful. I just lay there, not looking up as Chavez strides away, his shoes squelching in the mud. I don't give him the satisfaction. I just lay there, face buried in the mud, waiting to die. It's nothing new, and I don't even feel the pain that much as the world becomes darker and colder. I can't tell if it's night or death, or both. Probably both. Soon my mind starts to prattle random facts or bring up honeyed, fragmented visions, and it's all I can do to lay there, just lay there, and let things take their course. I'm a fake hero now, so I guess I should die a real death. I don't see any stars when the darkness finally settles. I just see black, and off in the distance, eight loud reverberations shake my dying world. They're the last thing I notice before the black becomes blacker than I thought possible, absorbing me and carting me away.

* * *

 **Cordelia Nile, 17**

 **District Four Female**

Not a single kill. I didn't even get a weapon really before nearly every tribute the others killed had let loose their last gasps. The only one left by the time I located the few vials of materials to craft poisons and other similar draughts and had hidden them away was the boy Chavez left to bleed out. His shirt tells me he's the boy from Five. I give him a cursory look; he's in the throes of death and has been bleeding out for at least an hour now. All the tributes are gone except the corpses and this one, and I don't want to anger Chavez by ending the life of this tribute whose suffering he wanted to draw out for whatever reason. I'm already in a precarious position in the Pack, and I don't need to cause any more problems.

I move on from him to the next body not too far away, the boy's District partner. The little twelve year old looks peaceful in death, her tiny body curled up and her eyes closed. It looks as if she's asleep. I would believe it if it wasn't for the fact that she isn't breathing, or that her left leg has been sawed to bits, her chest bloodied by a finishing hack of Tyberios's axe. She's definitely dead. Counting the Five boy, she's number eight. Not a bad number.

I notice one last body. A girl is laying halfway down the slope into the grass several dozen yards away. I swear I see the corpse shift just a bit, and I stand, leaving behind the itty bitty Five girl's body behind to go investigate. Creeping towards the girl, I see her stir again, and I take my sweet time approaching, not wanting to spook her. When I reach her side, I see that she's the Twelve girl due to the number printed on her sleeve. The piteous mother who gave birth just days ago. My heart melts just a little, and I'm happy I don't have my weapon on me at this moment so I don't have to end her.

There's a shard of metal buried in her left shoulder, and she's bled some, although nothing too terrible. I can see she's playing dead; she probably didn't get moving fast enough and thought she could just pretend to be dead and then sneak off in the night while we were distracted. Smart plan. Her wound isn't that terrible; she could recover from it in a few days with the supplies in the Cornucopia. I sit near her, and she doesn't seem to have really noticed me yet. A plan of my own forms in my brain, and within a few minutes I have something actually decent stitching together in my mind.

"I found a live one!" I shout over to my allies, coming up the slope. The girl starts, her eyes wide open. She tries to crawl away, but the others coming running over, excited and ravenous. Each one of them made a kill today, if not two, and they're thirsting for more. I can see it in their eyes.

"I say we draw lots," Chavez chortles, crossing his arms across his broad chest.

"Kill her?!" I exclaim, acting shocked. "Are we really going to do that?"

"Why not? She's just another Outlier," Chavez replies, narrowing his eyes.

"Think about what will happen if we kill her," I whisper, pretending to be speaking quiet enough that the audience won't hear even though I full well know they can here. This'll also help me underestimate me even more, if possible. "The Capitol must love her. She has the best sob story. Do you want to be the Victor, or the Career was murdered a teen mother? I don't think any of us want that black mark on our record."

The look on Chavez's face screams _I'll do it!_ but everyone else seems to agree with me. Whoever kills this girl, Carmen I believe, is going to become the villain of this Games. They're not willing to do that themselves, and they don't want to condone another murdering her. Chavez looks around the group and looks exasperated.

"So we're letting the little wench live? What do we do? Turn her loose? Do we...do we _keep her_ like a pet or something?! This isn't going to work. Twelve doesn't mix with the pack unless it's our blades hitting their skin," he growls.

"Don't you want a little servant to do your bidding, Chavez?" Ardin murmurs, trying to keep the barb out of her voice. It's still there, however. "She'll do all the cleaning and whatever, and we can sit back and rest. It's a pretty smart idea I think. But if you want this Pack to turn on you, go ahead on kill her."

Chavez looks like he wants to strangle Ardin, but he just nods shortly. Tyberios picks up Carmen, and she begins to weep in fear. She must believe we're playing some wicked game with her, but no. I believe I've actually convinced them to keep the girl as some sort of strange slave/pet around camp. She'll be helpful to me in the days to come. Tyberios and Trinity have a strong bond, and Ardin and Chavez are strong enough contenders that they can fully fend for themselves in a Pack fight. I have Zircon on my side I believe, but Carmen will be an even better asset in what I have planned for the future. It's not a very complicated plan, but Carmen will help me do it even more flawlessly and with less blood on my hands if I can get her on my side.

Tyberios lays the girl down in the mouth of the Cornucopia. As I give her water to drink, the eight Bloodbath cannons fire. The Five boy Chavez wounded must've finally bled out, and the Gamemakers know that we're not killing Carmen now. Upon hearing the cannons she visibly relaxes somewhat, although she tenses again when I start cleaning out her wound. She hisses, and I bandage it tightly as the other collect supplies and laugh around the fire they've built out on a dry patch of ground on the mud field.

"W-why did you save me?" she whimpers, quivering. I lay a blanket over her to try and keep her warming, smiling sweetly at her.

"We need each other," is my only answer, and it'll have to be good enough for now. Later, when I think I can trust her, she'll find out. For now, everything has to stay in my mind exclusively, or everything's ruined.

* * *

 **A/N: Damn! It's over! I hope you enjoyed that roller coaster, and I hope I wrote it well. I thought some parts were a little shaky but I hope it read alright :) NOW TELL ME HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT ALL THE TWISTY TWISTS AND SUCH GASP**

 **But first, the obituaries. :) Yes, I did do them. I just didn't want any of you skipping to the bottom to cheat! XD Obituaries are some of my favorite things to write, and I especially need them for this chapter, where it might've not been extremely clear.**

 **24TH: RUFUS BRAUNVIEH, 10M - Killed by Trinity**

 **Rufus was probably the only tribute in this entire SYOT I always, always struggled to write and the only tribute I feel like I failed this time around. His character was pretty interesting but wasn't anything crazily original, and he got lost in the sea of amazing characters. I never connected with him, and his submitter hasn't been around so I never got any feedback on how to improve him, so I was really lost as to where to go with him. However, he was still great like all of these tributes, and he'll be missed even if I can readily admit he was my least favorite tribute in these Games. Thanks for being the first to fall, bud.**

 **23RD: SOYA CHAFFER, 11F - Killed by Zircon**

 **Soya! Many people found you pretty annoying, and I did too as I wrote you sometimes. However, you grew on me, and I really enjoyed writing your relationship with Lord, as I'm a sucker for romance and you to were pretty interesting. However, for plot reasons, I needed you to fall here. Your death will help propel some major developments and sequences in the Games, so at least there's that. It was great to develop you and rip away your naivete, no matter how dark that sounds. It was enjoyable, and I thank you. RIP.**

 **22ND: BERNIE ARELI, 5F - Killed by Tyberios**

 **Bernie was a cutie, and she was fun to explore. I tied off her arc in the Capitol, and while I wanted to surprise everyone and keep her around for a bit longer, I needed more Bloodbath deaths, and she had no place in the plot at all. She was a roller coaster to write, and it was cool to see her deal with the stress of the Games. Hers was another fun arc that I hope I finished well, and while it isn't a surprise to see her go for anyone, she'll still be missed I believe. :)**

 **21ST: SAGE ALUMIUS, 9F - Killed by Ardin**

 **Sage was an interesting tribute to write. I loved her relationship with Rini and her mood swings. I liked writing her dream sequences and she was originally going to survive to around the halfway point and sort of predict some events in the Games with her quirky, descriptive dreams. However, I realized that she had little use in the plot of the story, and her death also freed up some lanes in the Games that I readily took. It's sad to see her go, and I wish I could've gotten to see more of her, but for now this is where her story ends.**

 **20TH: GAIA IMANI, 8F - Killed by Trinity**

 **This was the first one that really, really hurt to write. I loved Gaia. She was just a normal girl with decent chances, and I had her making it all the way to 3rd at one point. However, I realized she needed to go here for plot reasons. She wasn't necessary in the plot, and other tributes had better chances for development than her. However, it still hurt to see her killed. At least she got to fly...oh yeah, she was the one that people kept saying they saw picked up by the tornado...wow I'm vicious xD RIP Gaia. You're a great girl, but this wasn't your year or arena.**

 **19TH: BARON ARBOR, 7M - Killed by Chavez**

 **Baron, Baron, Baron. You were a superb character and very original, and it was an absolute joy to write you and craft the world of the Coven around you and the repercussions of being in such an organization. For some reason however, I never had you going far. You were fun to write, but I never fully clicked with you for whatever reason. You were the strong tribute destined for an early death this year, and I'm sorry for that. You had almost no place in the plot, and so for those reasons I decided to cut you here. I'm sorry dude, and I wish I could've figured out a way to keep you around.**

 **18TH: MILLARD VAITH, 3M - Killed by Zircon**

 **Millard was great to write. His first scene was really great for me, and it helped me get through some stuff I was having. Since then I wanted to keep him for a while, but it wasn't meant to be. I loved developing the relationship between him and Fuji. Their friendship was great to watch, and I wish I could've had more time to explore it. That's just how the cookie crumbles though. Your death here was essential to light the fuse for some plot devices and it will cause some memorable moments in the arena. Your death was meaningful and while I wish I could've had more time to explore you like all the others, your time came to an end here, and I'm so sorry.**

 **17TH: JAYCE NEWMAN, 5M - Killed by Chavez**

 **This is one of the other difficult ones. I always knew he was going to die here, but his submitter has been such a great reviewer, and his character is so much fun to write and explore. People were saying "Oh he could get healed in the Capitol" and similar things. However, when I got his form, it said he had a terminal illness, and I took it like it was incurable. There was no hope for him even if he had managed to win, so I didn't think it was the best idea to keep him around. Jayce making it farther would've just hindered the plot and changed the story line in a way I didn't want it, but it was fun to have him around, and his witty convos with Miriam made me feel alive as I wrote them :) You'll be sorely missed kid. 3**

 **KILL COUNT:**

 **Trinity Vegas: 2 (Rufus, Gaia)**

 **Zircon O'Dile: 2 (Soya, Millard)**

 **Chavez Belasco: 2 (Baron, Jayce)**

 **Ardin Varnell: 1 (Sage)**

 **Tyberios Palatium: 1 (Bernie)**

* * *

 **Wow, I can't believe I got thru that chapter without tears, and I know I'll be crying as we go through this. I've known these characters would all be dying for several months now so the blow doesn't hurt much, but with the others I'm more attached to it'll be harder. It hurts to let these characters go and it'll be crazy to finally finish this. That's still quite the time away, but I've just been thinking about it :)**

 **Tell me everything you think! There was a lot here, and I bet you have a lot to say. SPILL! :D XD Surprised by any survivors or anyone that died? What do you think will happen next? Next chapter will be the First Night, just to check on some of the alliances/tributes we haven't seen yet. After that the other chapters will be Day 1, Day 2, Day 3 etc.**

 **The Games are officially underway folks. Enjoy the ride.**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	63. Guilt Trip (The First Night)

**A/N: I'm apologize for the lack of updates. My life has been really hectic and insane and I haven't had any time to write. However, things are starting to roll to a finish, as cross country just ended last week and marching band is over with States on Saturday :) I's just Night One, checking in on a tribute we didn't see in the Bloodbath and how some groups are functioning :) I also included eulogies at the start that will happen when a District is fully eliminated from the Games; just a little glimpse into the thoughts of a Mentor and how their deaths changed the District in the time between their deaths and the next Games. I'm hoping to keep things moving, as I really want to delve into these Games, and I also have an exciting next story idea that'll be released some time later. I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **DISTRICT FIVE EULOGIES**

* * *

 **Anneliese Petrova**

I failed, again. I didn't have much hope this year of course, but it still makes tears bubble out of my eyes to be the only Mentor to be completely shutting down their District's station. Usually I stay with half of my monitors turned on, or I'm packing up with others like Eris and Unity. But now I'm the only one. I won't miss them all that much as individuals; Bernie put me through hell and back emotionally, and Jayce never connected with me. But I have to go back to Five with false smiles telling them I did my best when I couldn't even get a tribute out of the lower third. They should just really give my job to someone else, and let me hide away forever.

* * *

 **District Five**

Bernie's absence is soon filled by her guardian's new child, who they named Karri Bernadette in her memory. Her legacy remains when they sell off a majority of her cats, who are spread throughout the District in due time. One of them even manages to find its way into the home of Jayce's heartbroken girlfriend, Delilah, who becomes an addict shortly after the Games. However, Jayce's grieving parents help her through their misery and she is able to recover and return to her life by the time of the next Reaping. Jayce's mother is immensely depressed for a long time after his death that he never told her about his illness, and she starts a fund in his memory for the sick of the District.

* * *

 **Calico D'Amboise, 14**

 **District Eight Male**

* * *

The dull ache in my muscles is like nothing I've ever felt before. I guess that's because I don't usually run hysterically for my life after almost being pulverized by debris from a tornado, but it still stings nonetheless. The adrenaline is starting to wear off just a tad as the sun descends and the temperatures go from a little uncomfortable to mild to almost chilly. The world around me is gradually darkening, making it harder to sea the endless flowing fields of wheat and tall grass that surround me. I walk hesitantly, worried I might step into a trap or on the foot of a sleeping tribute or, worse, on some squealing little rodent or crunchy beetle. One of my shoes is already torn from falling when the tornado hit, and my bare pinky toe probes the cool night air, quivering with fear.

The fear and worry that nibbles at me is more from my immediate situation than the Games themselves. The dark and the fear of stepping on some gross creature are pecking at me, but I'm so removed from the Games now that I don't really feel like my life is in danger. Even I gave myself zero chance of getting out of the Bloodbath in my head. I was going to got out spitfire, attacking one of the Careers and leaving even just a tiny scar for them to flaunt on their Victory Tour before they finished me off nice and easy as they should. Instead I freaked after the tornado swirled away, and I ran like crazy with only a windbreaker.

I pull the slick fabric of the windbreaker tighter around me, fiddling with the zipper as the jacket rustles with my movements. I don't dare take it off; it provides some warmth and comfort, and I feel like there's a chance it'll get colder as the night wears on. The sound it makes worries me, but then, should I really care? It's better if someone hears me, finds me, kills me. I have no food or water, and my family will only be able to send so much. I'd rather be murdered suddenly in the night, part of the highlight reel, than starve painfully for three weeks and be forgotten.

I start rustling the coat more. It creates some more noise, but nothing substantial. I unzip it and tear it off suddenly, crinkling it together in a large ball, rubbing it all together. The resulting noise isn't that loud either, but it still seems like it echoes in the nearly silent prairie. The only other sounds are the soft, far off buzz of nighttime bugs and a few soft gusts of breeze rippling the stalks of grass around me.

I jump when the trumpet's cries blast above me. I fall backwards onto my butt, sprawled out in the dirt. I scramble to my feet, shaking in shock and embarrassment. I quickly get in the salute they made us do at boarding school without even thinking. Halfway through _The Horn of Plenty_ I start to drop my hand, but then I decide against it. Maybe I'll get an extra cracker if the Capitol thinks I'm a good little patriot. If it's going to be a few days until I get run through by Careers, I might as well not starve painfully, right?

The anthem fades, and then the first face flickers in the sky. I think for a split second that I see the face of the boy from One, but I soon realize it's not him. _District Three_ floats beneath the guy's face, so both District 1 and 2 made it out clean. Of course. Next up is the petite girl from Five. Not a surprise, an obvious Bloodbath like myself, except she didn't beat her fate. That also means every Career's alive. How swell. Her District partner, the sick guy, is next. Not too surprising either. The next face is the mysterious boy from Seven. I thought he'd make it farther, but I guess not.

The next face is Gaia's, and my mind trips up for a moment. I squint, but my District, _our_ District, is still illuminated clearly under the sky, and Gaia's sweetly smiling picture gazes down at me, jeering with its kindness. Gaia. I survived long than Gaia. How?! My heart beats a little faster and I sit down slowly as her face fades from the sky, replaced by that of her ally, the Nine girl. My shoulders shake with light sobs. I barely see the faces of another guy and another girl, not even making out the District, through my tears.

I outlived Gaia. That's not right. That was never meant to happen. She wasn't strong, but she was the one of us that was prepared to do what I have to do now: survive in the wilderness with next to nothing. She was the one Woof took, the one who deserved the good Mentor. And she's dead. And my ratty ass is still kicking.

Of course I've heard of survivor's guilt, but I never thought it would effect me, even on the first day of the Games. It's not intense or an end all stopping me and crippling me from doing anything else, but it lingers even after Gaia's face is long gone from the sky and my few spare tears have dried up. I stay there, on the ground among the stalks of grass. There's no viable shelter anywhere in sight; this entire place is just grass, grass, grass. Here is just as good as almost anywhere else in the arena to bed for the night. My legs are tired and I'm thirsty; it's better not to futilely search in the dark.

I don't have quite the imagination to make the flat earth beneath my head into a fluffy pillow, and the throes of anxious sleep take much too long to claim me. Just as I'm drifting off, a loud noise sends me reeling upright, blubbering groggily in fear. I look around at the pitch black around me, at the speckled starlit sky; nothing.

And then the sound fits together in my waking mind: loud noises in the arena either mean someone's near and coming for you, or a cannon just fired because someone died. Either way, I'm not going to be able to sleep anymore. Moving will make me feel better.

I crawl forward through the grass, not having the energy to jog or run, even to walk really, but not being tired enough to go to sleep now. I outlived another person it seems. Lady luck's favoring me still. I bet I can count the number of additional cannons I'll witness on one hand before I hear my own. I would start looking at my hands with some weird curiosity for some literary effect for the excited Capitolites to dissect and zoom in on, but I'm too busy hauling myself forward on my hands and knees. Ah who gives a fuck anyway? Survival instincts are taking hold, but fuck them. I'm starting to try and be rational for Snow's sake. Me, Calico D'Amboise. What a joke. Might as well give up now, eh? Scream my head off and sit here until Chavez barrels in and carves open my throat?

I keep crawling anyway. There's some things you just don't ignore.

* * *

 **Ivy Cross, 16**

 **District Seven Female**

* * *

We walked for a long while after meeting back up with Fuji. I didn't feel safe being so near the Cornucopia, as we were only about a mile out, and we managed to make quite the hike out into the darkening prairie before weariness overcame one of us. Fuji just sits down out of nowhere, looking distraught and worn out. Omri immediately pauses to sit beside her, but I keep walking for a few moments before realizing that we're not going anywhere. I restrain the urge to roll my eyes or sigh as I turn around and walk back towards where my allies are sitting on the ground, Omri comforting Fuji.

Omri hands over one of our two canteens that we got, and Fuji unscrews the cap, sucking down quite the draw from the container. My hair bristles and I just want to tell her to stop hoarding our things and to get out of here. She's falling apart and we can't have that, and she's squandering our supplies while she's brought nothing to the table except getting our fourth ally killed. I liked Millard; I had a strong bond with him and was certain he would never be a problem for me later down the road. I can't say the same about Fuji.

Fuji finally draws her face away from the canteen and puts the cap back on, handing it to Omri who takes a quick sip before handing it to me. I barely take anything before stuffing it in my pack, shooting the smallest of glances Fuji's way. It's too dark for her to notice.

"You doing alright?" Omri asks Fuji, huddling beside her and putting his arm around her as she shivers. It's cool and there's a slight breeze, but it's nothing major. She's probably shivering from fear and guilt. I still don't like for how nice and cozy Omri seems to be around Fuji.

Fuji just nods in response. Omri pats her on the back and removes his arm from around her, shrugging off his pack and laying back on the ground. Fuji does the same, her eyes locked on the starry skies.

"We're just sleeping here?" I ask. We're in the middle of nowhere with no protection besides the grass. It feels extremely unprotected and extremely dangerous.

"There's nowhere better," Fuji remarks quietly in response, her tone sprinkled with annoyance and something else. "We're in a prairie after all."

"Shouldn't we just keep looking? I don't feel safe here," I respond, my tone steely.

"We're not going to find anything in the dark, Ivy," Omri speaks up. "It's okay, just come lay down, we're fine."

I sigh softly, but I don't continue to argue. I walk over to Omri's side and let my pack, laden with supplies, slip off my back. It lands on the ground with a soft thud, and I'm right behind it, not so gracefully plopping down into the dirt. Things are pretty silent except for our breathing. I examine the stars above my head, knowing that they're fake. There's no consistent constellations in the sky, no north star, no Big or Little Dipper. The Gamemakers really want us to get lost this year, lost in this land of neverending grass that makes me want to tear my hair out. I was banking on trees and varied terrain, an arena with heights and drops and hard to reach places where I could maneuver and fight better than most. Out here, there's nothing to hide behind, no trees, no mountains, no caves, no valleys. It's just grass, grass, grass. This Games will be a true test of skill. I doubt any of us stand a chance against the Careers here.

Eventually I hear soft snores coming from where Fuji lays. Omri's gotten up and is sitting some distance away, on guard. He's been doing so for what seems like a while; or maybe it's just a little, and my inability to fall asleep at the moment is making time stretch out like a balloon being filled with helium. I get to my hands and knees and quietly crawl over to him, careful not to disturb the slumbering Fuji.

"Why are you awake?" Omri yawns softly, stretching his arms out into the night.

"Can't sleep. I feel...uncomfortable," I murmur, looking over at the steady rise and fall of Fuji's chest and her sealed eyes.

"I know Fuji's a mess right now, but imagine if you'd just seen me die and you thought you were alone and then it was just you with Fuji and Millard who had a great bond like we do. I'd be broken up about things as well. The pressure and emotions are just getting to her today, give her some time to recover," Omri tells me.

"She's going to fuck us over, Omri," I insist. "Maybe not today, or even next week, but she will at some point."

"She got a 5. We can take her. We'll get rid of her sooner than later if that makes you feel better. Just go back to bed, okay? Everything will be alright."

"Okay. Soon. She better be gone soon. You sure you don't need to switch out? You seem pretty tired," I say as I crawl back towards Fuji where we're all sleeping.

"I'll get you up in a few hours to switch out. Don't sweat it. Sleep; you need it," he replies. I just nod quickly before curling up in the grass. Omri's points are solid, and even though I still feel uncomfortable having Fuji around long term, I can last the night. Nothing bad's going to happen in the few hours between now and morning.

* * *

 **Omri Plower, 18**

 **District Eleven Male**

 _It was the first anniversary of my father's death. My mother was a mess all day, weepy and even quieter than usual, shrouded in black both literally and figuratively. All days consoling neighbors and our sparse number of distant family members from out of town stopped by to deliver small gifts of food or pottery or clothing to soothe my mother's bleeding heart, and my aching soul. We received them all with graciousness; all but one._

 _It wasn't even Elliotta Pearson's fault. She was new to town, she and her fiance having moved in from the nearby fruit boomtown of Charlet to start a more modest, calm life in our small village, Alahee. Her family back in Charlet was famous for their honeyed treats, and Elliotta had even brought a bee house to their new property from their family's farm. Elliotta Pearson brought a beautiful glass jar of fresh honey for my mother. Every move of hers was respectful before she revealed the treat, and the moment she did my mother began to scream. She threw the jar on the ground and screamed, screamed, screamed. Elliotta didn't know that my father died from stepping on a hornet's nest, that bees made my mother screech like a banshee and then weep until I thought she'd die from water loss. Elliotta started to scream in terror as well, and then I was yelling for them to stop it. Before I knew it, Elliotta was fleeing in fear and my mother was having a fit of grief and anger, screeching maniacally on the ground._

I jerk awake, the screams of my forlorn mother still echoing in my ears. I rub my eyes and look around, confused as more shouts and yelps and groans meet my ears even though I'm awake. That's when my eyes bug out and I gasp; I've fallen asleep on watch, and now someone nearby is screaming.

I jump to my feet, looking around wildly. The world is pitch black. I can barely see anything. I move quietly towards the sounds, and find them emanating from the grass where Ivy and Fuji were sleeping when I was supposed to be on guard. Oh fuck, I fell asleep. I _fell asleep on watch._

My eyes are starting to adjust to the darkness, and now I'm close enough to make out the scene in front of me. I can't see Fuji anywhere, and Ivy...Ivy's laying in the grass, shuddering and shouting for help, trying in vain to move herself about, trying in vain to get to her feet and save herself. I quickly kneel beside Ivy, tapping her on the forehead. Her eyes meet mine and I can see tears streaking her pale cheeks. Her hands are cinched tight around her abdomen, and I slowly remove them.

The mass of blood and organs that is visible makes me almost throw up in my mouth. Her entire stomach is slashed open, and there's a few small cuts on one of her arms, all from a dagger. I can already tell she's probably past the point of no return; she can't make coherent noises besides from the inhuman yelps and titters and moans she's been making all along. I can still try; I'm pretty sure there was some gauze in one of our packs. I tell Ivy she'll be okay quickly before leaping to my feet and looking around behind Ivy for our packs. I find only one of them, and the only thing left inside is a pack of saltine crackers and a coil of rope. That's when it all clicks into place.

I knew Fuji was feeling uncomfortable, but I never thought it would come to this, at least not this early. Fuji really has lost it I guess, or maybe she's way more devious than we gave her credit for. Either way, she must've overheard us talking about cutting her soon and she cut Ivy open after I fell asleep on watch and ran away with all of our supplies. My heart clenches and I try to assuage the sudden barrage of guilt, but it's no use. If I had stayed awake, Ivy might not be in such a critical condition.

As I'm debating over if the coil of rope can be used in any way to help, there's a cannon that stills all movement and thought from me. I slowly look over at Ivy, and her chest is no longer shakily rising and falling erratically. I tumble over to her side, ignoring her blood drenched shirt and pressing my fingers against her neck. Nothing.

I may have fallen asleep on watch, but Ivy's death isn't my fault. I didn't take the knife that stabbed her open, the knife that killed her. Fuji did this. Fuji destroyed my chances in these Games, destroyed the lives of first Millard and now Ivy. That bitch, my "ally", my "friend", is going to get it. I'm going to destroy her chances, even if it takes everything I've got. There's no coming back from this; she's dead already. I just hope I get to be there when things fall apart for her.

* * *

 **A/N: I bet you weren't expecting that! I've had this scene stored up for a while and I've been wanting to get it out, and I'm happy that I'm able to share it with you all. Omri's POV is shorter so I'm going to leave some space between this and the obituary so you can't see it that well from the start of Omri's POV.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **16TH: IVY CROSS, 7F - Killed by Fuji**

 **Shocker. Yes, I know. She was basically a Top 8 shoe-in. I loved Ivy's character and she was always going to be about 4th place at least until I started to really look into what I wanted my plot and character arcs to be like. The scenes surrounding her demise were great to write, and they'll trigger some major movement in the story. Ivy was never my Victor even though I liked her, and I realized she was only going far because she was popular, not because she had a spot in the conflicts of the story. I realized that this was the time to let go some characters that didn't manage to make it into the plot. I'm so so sorry she couldn't go further. But this is what needed to happen for my story :(**

 **Kill Count:**

 **Trinity Vegas: 2 (Rufus, Gaia)**

 **Zircon O'Dile: 2 (Soya, Millard)**

 **Chavez Belasco: 2 (Baron, Jayce)**

 **Ardin Varnell: 1 (Sage)**

 **Tyberios Palatium: 1 (Bernie)**

 **Fuji LaMac: 1 (Ivy)**

* * *

 **I did just do that. I'm sort of shocked, but this story is going to be hardcore and chock full of action. I originally had a 19 day Games planned out, but I think I might condense it somewhat so there aren't any slow chapters. The action is going to be up up up most of the time, and no one's really safe from my wicked ability to kill them off.**

 **What did you think of this chapter? How will Calico fare? What do you think of the destruction of the Showstoppers alliance? What do you think will happen next?**

 **Also, if you want to sponsor, just PM me with what you want to send. Please don't send me a barrage of sponsor gifts, but you can send some stuff. I just don't want anyone to get overpowered or have unrealistic amounts being sent out :)**

 **Things are kicking now. I'm excited to finally be getting into the Games more and more!**

 **P.S. Crazy. It's been over a year since I published this story. I can't even fathom it. Thanks for all the lovely support :)**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	64. Little House on the Prairie (Day Two)

**A/N: Welcome one, welcome all to the second day of the Twenty Second Annual Hunger Games! Today we're visiting some more tributes to see where their heads are at, and who knows, there might even be some action today! Buckle up your seat belts, it's time to get into the minds of a drug addict, a Career, and a little girl! Hope you enjoy the ride :) POV lengths are really inconsistent this chapter XD**

 **Note: From here on out, I'll be doing eulogies for each of the tributes the day following their deaths, like in LCS's story. I'm considering Night 1 as the overall eulogy for the Bloodbaths, but from now on each tribute that dies will get some thoughts from a remaining tribute when they see their face in the sky. Just a heads up :)**

* * *

 **Libby Miles, 16**

 **District Six Female**

* * *

The prairie grass crunches underneath my boots as I stumble forward. The grass this far out is spotty, bunches of it growing tall while most of it's at my knees or lower. It's almost as if someone took a giant lawnmower and rode around this part of the arena and didn't do the job right. I know I should stop soon; I'm tired, and a water bottle is the only useful thing in my pack. I can't waste it marching endlessly forth into the hazy morning. As the sun slowly pulls himself towards his pinnacle in the sky, the air around me becomes stickier and thicker. I swear you could cut through it with a knife. Panting, I finally let myself sit down and rest. Or, really, I just fall ungracefully to my knees, then repositioning myself so I'm sitting criss cross apple sauce.

The prairie buzzes around me, insects calling to one another in low, nearly inaudible cadences. Soft breezes blow by every now and then, tousling the longer stalks of grass. Their movements keep me on alert, keep me from slipping off into the recesses of my mind.

It has been a little over a week since my last dose of morphling. The world is less blurry than it was. Calla said that by the end of the first week, which was about yesterday, that things would be closer to normal than fucked up. I guess that's true. I haven't really started to examine the events in my life since I've been focused on getting as far away from the Cornucopia as possible, but things just seem a little clearer. Things close to me, like the blade of grass I roll between my thumb and forefinger, are definitely real. Sometimes I'll see shadows or shapes on the horizon, or the sun flicker. But things have improved. I wasn't the dumb addict I was when I arrived in the Capitol, probably slobbering and flopping on top of random pieces of furniture. I can control myself, although I have my few moments. I was able to think clearly at the Bloodbath due to the adrenaline. Torcido's backs off at the presence of strong drugs like morphling. The adrenaline aided my mental clearness I guess. But I was able to grab a small muddy brown pack near my pedestal and haul my butt out of there. I kept going all day and I only stopped to rest for a few short hours in the night before I woke up from a fractured dream of Anaya's bloody corpse. Ah, Anaya. Her voice is nearly nonexistent, a half whisper in the back of my mind.

Sometimes it feels like I'm a completely new person. My skin is paler than I once thought, same with my hair, and I could've sworn I didn't have that birthmark half the time on my right wrist. I used to just think it was some random bruise that kept popping up. I see myself and the world around me in a new light.

Of course, not everything's swell and merry. Sure, Torcido's is a lot of really bad things, but it has one major advantage: it masks addiction from the user. It hides the fact that the user is taking drugs from herself and when they don't have access to drugs, it drowns out the hunger for them. Torcido's is just a temporary side effect from shooting up dirty morphling; it fades fully two weeks after your last dosage. I just had it consistently for several years because I kept taking hits every few days. Addiction is the true root of the problem. I may be getting my clarity back, but the pangs and the primal urge for even a tenth of a hit sometimes make me dizzy and distracted if I think about it too much. It's not like two weeks and snap! Liberty has, well, liberty from her vices. Nah. Freedom from addiction doesn't even begin with two weeks. It takes two years, two decades, maybe two lifetimes. It's time that you've lost forever because of a stupid mistake you made when you were younger and hurting uncontrollably.

All this thinking, reminiscing, reasoning things out just makes my head throb. I hesitantly unscrew the cap of my water bottle, letting myself take a measured sip before stuffing it back in my little dirt brown bag. At least it blends in; I saw some of the bags in psychedelic neon colors like they are every year. Those usually have more supplies, but they're nearly impossible to hide and would paint a giant target on anyone who took one. I wonder if anyone was dumb or desperate enough to take the bright bubblegum pink pack I saw laying on its side not far from where I hunkered down to hide from the tornadoes.

My head aches again, and my body begs for something that I can't give it. There are no morphling drips in the arena; only Victors get morphling drips. Of course, they'd give me a different drug probably as to not trigger the Torcido's syndrome again, but still. I get out, I get some sort of opiod. That thought just appeases the inner starving creature for a few moments, but they are a few moments well spent with a clear head before things become hazy again with desire and need.

Not moving and not talking is dangerous. I'm a sitting duck of course, but I doubt anyone's this far out, at least not anyone threatening. It's dangerous because I'm sitting here alone with my thoughts in the silence of the prairie where a too loud noise could mean attracting deathly attention to myself. So I have to sit here quietly, criss cross apple sauce, the good little girl, all prim and proper and waiting for someone to come confront me, alone with my thoughts.

I'm going to go insane out here. I give myself four days. I bet they don't even give me one back in the Capitol.

* * *

 **Miriam Park, 13**

 **District Ten Female**

* * *

The dark smudge on the horizon has been in my peripherals all morning. The sun makes the shape fuzzy and hard to make out, but it's brown I'm pretty sure, and it looks like something other than the endless fields of wheat around me. I can barely make out the tiny dot miles away that is the Cornucopia; I'm in the middle of nowhere, feeling vulnerable, needing somewhere to go, and the smudge tempts me.

Of course I knew that there was a pretty decent chance that I'd lose Jayce at the Bloodbath. I didn't really think it was real until last night, when I saw his face smirking tiredly down at me, glittering like a woven net of stars across the inky black sky. I thought maybe, just maybe, he'd been able to crawl to safety and was hiding somewhere, waiting to find me so we could meet back up and get right back where we started. My reserves of jokes are starting to pile up; dead jokes about the grass and the dirt and the near-agoraphobia that grips me when I look too hard at the seemingly endless arena around me. I murmur some of them under my breath just to get them out so I don't have to deal with them any longer. I'd be bursting from the seams if I didn't exhale the little quips that come to mind every now and then.

I'm all alone now; I've been facing that music all morning. It's wearing into the afternoon now. I haven't moved all that much, just sitting in place for a while, then getting up and travelling a little just to keep my muscles loose and my focus sharp. The smudge taunts me, almost following me it seems as I move bit by bit away from it. I know I shouldn't go near it. I shouldn't even entertain the thought of going by the wretched thing.

You could barely see the tiny brown dot from my pedestal. After Jayce fell, I fled down the slope and into the grass, right in the direction of the smudge. It was just instinct; in a world of flat nothingness but the golden grass, some protrusion from the blank horizon was welcome and the sign of possible safety and comfort. The only issue is that I saw it from my pedestal. The Careers can see it, and they're bound to go towards whatever it is any day now, knowing some kid's shacked up inside.

So the logical part of me screams "Stop walking toward it!" Because yes, I've been walking towards it. Not away; I've just been deluding myself, saying I'm listening to my inner strategist while my heart controls my limbs and propels me forward. The smudge is starting to become a little clearer. It looks like a prism, rectangular or cubic. And now that it's closer my brain really starts to realize what's going on. I'm moving towards the obvious target of the Careers, the hiding place so obvious in this sea of nothingness that no one should be stupid enough to go near it, but the Careers will check it just to be safe. I'm letting my legs carry myself towards plausible doom.

 _Fuck fuck fuck_ my mind grunts as I just keep on moseying along through the prairie, pausing every now and then to rest or take a small sip from my water bottle. There's no going back now. I might as well check out what this thing is now that I've been heading towards it for this long. Worst case, if it's some mutt superhub or has been taken over by an alliance or has been pillaged by Careers I can just run away and hide. I'm one of the few tributes that can legitimately hide out here due to my smaller size.

Only a couple of hours after noon, with the sun blazing brightly in the sky, I arrive at my hallowed destination. A quarter mile away I finally had identified the place as a wooden hut or lodge of sorts; as I neared, the thing began to come into more focus. Standing in front of the door into the lodge, I realize that it is a little house of sorts, like a cabin someone might build in the woods in a fairytale. It's assembled from hulking logs and there's warped glass in the windowpanes. I walk over to the door and push on it; there's no lock or knob to keep it shut.

I step into the cabin. It's musty inside. Bookshelves line the walls, filled with various things, from trinkets to tattered photographs to actual books. There is a cold fireplace, and two cots in one corner. There are a few armchairs as well. I start because I swear I see a human form propped up in one of the chairs. But it doesn't move at all. I slide a thick tome off of one of the shelves and slowly approach the slumped, misshapen figure lounging in the armchair.

I smack the book down, and a dull rattle meets my ears. I squint and hit the thing, realizing it's a some sort of hard woven plastic and metal. It hurts like hell to bang my fist against it, and I recoil instantly. It's in the shape of a body; a human body. Armor?

Suddenly, the door swings inward. I startle, jumping away from the armor or whatever it is, book raised above my head in a defensive position. My eyes meet with those of the one and only Gaylord Parthenia, douche of District Twelve. He has a dagger strapped to his left thigh with a cord and a pair of goggles or binoculars in his hand.

"What the-" he begins, but I pounce at him. I slam my book against his right shoulder, and he staggers. I make a rush for the door, but Lord rights himself quickly, grabs me by the shoulders, and tosses me onto one of the cots. The ancient springs squeal in distress as I land heavily on the bed. Lord draws his dagger and points it at me, snarling, his eyes alight with a mixture of confusion and fear.

"This is my cabin," Lord growls, the dagger still pointed at my head, but his hand shakes just a little. My eyes dart around the room, looking for some way to get free, but he's backed me up into the corner. "Are you listening to me?" he hisses, and I realize I've zoned out trying to find an escape route.

"What?" I reply tentatively. "What do you want?"

"Uh...your supplies," he decides. I sigh inwardly. This is going to be rough. I point to my maroon pack where it lays on the ground. Its contents are sprawled out near the fireplace after the bag came open when I stepped on it in a fright when Lord came in. He eyes them carefully for a moment before turning back to me. I can see the uncertainty in his eyes and the faint shake of the hand holding the dagger despite how menacing his stance looks.

"Just let me go," I plead quietly. "You have no reason to kill me. We have a common enemy, the Careers. Just let me go, and you don't have to get the blood on your hands."

Lord just stares at me for a couple of moments before making his decision. "I need your help with something," he says slowly, cautiously. "You promise that if I drop this knife you're not going to go apeshit and rip out my throat or blow me up with some girly glitter gun?"

"I promise. Cross my heart, hope to die. Well...not hope to die. Guess we shouldn't say that part anymore." Lord looks at me intensely for a few more seconds before he drops the dagger. He straps it back to his thigh and then extends his hand. I tentatively take it, and he helps me to my feet.

"Well, I'm Lord," he tells me simply as he goes over to pick up my supplies strewn everywhere. He puts them back in my pack efficiently, and then hands me my pack. "I know you're Miriam."

"Why are you giving it back?" I question hesitantly, skipping the pleasantries. "My pack. Why are you giving it back?"

"I need your help," Lord replies simply. "All these books here? I'm convinced that there's something in them that'll help us in these Games."

"Like what? A magical spell to get us out of our nightmares?" I laugh. "Really?"

Lord looks a little hurt. "They sometimes put things in the arena. Like that genie lamp from Anneliese's Games that told the boy where to find the oasis."

"Even if there's some great thing hidden here, we're going to die if we stay here. Careers are going to come check this place out sooner than later," I mumble. "I don't think it's smart to stay here."

"You want to go back out there?" he asks. "All alone?" And he's right. I don't want to; I look out the nearby window at the endless fields of grass. The Cornucopia is a tiny, itty bitty dot on the horizon, a metallic speck breaking the monotony of the robin egg blue sky's horizon. It looks so lonely, so lost, so endless out there. In here, I feel some semblance of safety just because, well, it's a house. It's a home; the hackneyed pictures of an ancient family on the bookshelves and the comfy furniture make me feel comforted.

"No, I don't," I sigh, steeling myself. "But I don't want to die."

"I'm sort of hungry," Lord admits. "I sort of just didn't kill you, so hand over some of your jerky."

"I sort of have no obligation to do anything for you," I fire back, eyebrow raised, and he just grabs the pack from my hands. "Hey!"

Lord fishes out my pack of jerky and tears out a strip. He stuffs the jerky back in my bag and throws it at my feet before turning to the book shelves, gnawing on his strip of jerky. "Well, let's get to work. You're in my house after all. You're going to have to earn your keep."

"I can just walk out the door," I tell him firmly as I stride over, pulling a thin green book off of the shelf. Lord doesn't respond; already he knows it's an empty threat. He knows I'm too scared to go back out there after spending time cooped up with a false sense of security in here. I just open the book and start reading, searching for whatever it is we're searching for, ignoring the vastness outside the window. My eyes do flick over to the metallic dot on the horizon every now and then, however. Even a home with a comfy armchair and a bed can't take the paranoia out of the Games entirely.

* * *

 **Tyberios Palatium, 18**

 **District Two Male**

* * *

"I can't believe you dumbasses," Chavez scoffs from his perch on top of a crate, leaning up against Cornucopia, feet propped up on another, smaller crate. The midday sunlight streams over him excessively, making most of his features besides his snarling frown fuzzy. He looks like a pissy prince trying to get his underlings back in order but failing. I guess that's exactly what's going on, but Chavez ain't a prince if you ask me, and the only thing we're failing at is complying to Chavez's will.

Ardin opens her mouth to speak but I put my hand on her shoulder, quieting her, while Trinity speaks instead. She looks at me half pissed off, half quizzical, and I just shake my head, mouthing the word "no". She gets the memo; it's not time to fuck around with Chavez and his temper. It's only day two. My headaches were so bad from the arguing that I popped one of the four pills Scylas sent me despite the fact I was trying to preserve them. I was going to go batshit crazy if I had to listen to more of this with my head pounding as if there's a hundred hammers slamming against my temples.

"Calm down, Chavez," Trinity purrs calmly, smiling sweetly as she prances over to him and sits on the crate beside him. I know she's pulling all the stops to put an end to his rampaging temper, but it feels weird to watch her flirt with the monster from Four. It feels wrong in some way to me, although it's one of the tools in her arsenal that she's expected to use from her training at the IDE. "We're just taking a day off, kicking back and charging up before we go out there and kick some ass." She strokes his shoulder, and Chavez's eyes are locked on her. "Just chill, okay?"

Chavez huffs but doesn't say anything for a few moments, stumbling over his words as Trinity stands and backs away. "I...we...uh...we need to get out there...soon, yeah soon." This is the only time I've seen Chavez Belasco at a loss for words, and I try not to chuckle, grinning at Trinity as she winks at me, suppressing laughter of her own. Chavez continues bumbling along. "We...you all need to start...yeah, start getting ready to fight...tomorrow."

"Of course," Trinity says. "We'll be all ready to go tomorrow."

"We just need this day off to organize stuff and get the sponsors' favor," Zircon adds helpfully, and Trinity nods encouragingly.

"Well, we have a fricking slave, isn't that the point? We don't have to organize?" Chavez growls, his voice quickly rising again. I can see the storm clouds gathering around him again. Trinity's smile is so fake it's dripping with fake honey and I swear I see steam erupting out of Ardin's ears.

"It's about being prepared," Ardin snarks through gritted teeth. "You can't just go killing willy nilly. You're not a god."

Trinity gives Ardin an alarmed look, and that along with a nudge in the side get her to shut up. I know they have some rivalry thing going on, and there's more sexual tension then they'd ever admit, but there's no way I'm letting some stupid rivalry fuck up this pack. Yes, we're going to fall apart. Yes, we're probably going to fall apart earlier than most packs. Does that mean we're falling apart on Day fucking 2, barely twenty four hours in? Hell no.

"Says you, bitch," Chavez sniffs. "You're the one that acts like she's the second coming of Serephina Manchas."

Now that was a good one. Everything is silent, and Ardin looks like she's about the explode. Cordelia breaks the silence. "Well, then who does that make you? Christopher Waters?"

"Who the fuck is that?" Chavez grunts, narrowing his eyes at his District partner.

"My point exactly." It takes all my willpower not to laugh, and I can see Trinity's face turning red for the exertion. Ardin's let all fucks go and just chuckles rowdily at Cordelia's joke, grinning at the girl and giving her a high five.

"Screw this." The king of Four marches off, taking his throwing knives with him. He strolls off down the slope into the grass, pausing some distance away. He's probably conveniently using the bathroom right now and then he'll practice fighting or something or go murder whatever he can get his hands on before coming back. So we'll have some time.

"Oh thank god," Trinity sighs, slouching just a tad. "I hate having to be a whore for him." Everyone else laughs, and we keep laughing when we hear each other's laughter. Our chuckles have just been trapped up for so long and steeped inside us, and now that we're allowed to release them they're pouring out endlessly. We just share stupid little gibes about Chavez while he's gone, working it out of our system the best we can.

"I hope he never comes back," Ardin snorts. " _I'm_ the king now." She lounges on top of the crates, mocking him and puckering her lips like she's going in for a big kiss. Trinity begins to snort and I laugh uproariously, and I can see a few tears of mirth leak out of Zircon's eyes as he giggles.

Ardin continues mocking Chavez, laying atop the crates, until we see Chavez coming back. Sniggering, we gather back where we were before, talking quietly and organizing some supplies to make it look like we didn't just waste twenty minutes making fun of him.

Suddenly a little voice peeps up. "Mealtime..." Carmen trails off. We've forgotten all about the Twelve girl, who's been tending to the fire and cooking us soup in a large cauldron-like pot. There were some fresh vegetables and chicken in the Cornucopia, and we agreed that we needed to use them before they went bad. Carmen was put to good use and now our meal is prepared. The aroma of the soup makes me salivate.

She backs away respectfully as we storm the cauldron, scooping out heaping portions into steely bowls and devouring them with metal sporks, the only cutlery provided in the Cornucopia. Cordelia talks quietly with our little slave friend, getting her soup last and inviting Carmen to join us. The still frightened girl eats her relatively small portion of soup quietly, making sure not to slurp too loudly, letting us dominate the conversation.

She's sneaky, and I don't like her being around. There's something wrong about this; not just the part that we're using her as a slave. But I feel like there's a component to the relationships in the pack that I'm missing, and that's worrying. This pack is going to split soon, and if I don't know which way people will go and who they'll attack first, I could easily be fucked over and dead. I've got less time than optimal to figure out what's going on here, or I'm worried things might not turn out so fine and dandy for me.

* * *

 **A/N: This was a fun no death chapter! I loved exploring these three characters; I really adore everyone left and I don't want to start killing, but things will begin to thin out very soon :/**

 **What did you think about Libby's state? Thoughts about the relationship between Miriam and Lord? (I don't really think it can be called an alliance). Thoughts on how the pack is operating?**

 **So, I have an announcement to make! I've decided to tell you about the idea for my next story. I love Hunger Games, but I've written so many Games with 500YOP and my SYOTs that I need to take a break. Survivor is my favorite TV show, and I've even written several season summaries on my account of seasons made up by me on this account; the story is called Paradise. Anyway, I've always wanted to do a Survivor SYOC; would you guys be interested in that? I don't know if I'll have it in me to do another HG SYOT at least for a while after this one xD**

 **Also, somehow, we're nearing 1,000 reviews. Y'all are true heroes.**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


	65. Bison Bison (Day 3)

**A/N: I am such a terrible person, I am so sorry! I could apologize for years about not being able to post anything for such a long time. However, school is finally out and I have my time finally freed up. I took off so much time this summer because I was just exhausted from life and school, and I have about two weeks until the crazy cycle resumes. I had to come back to this story. Most of you are probably gone, and with good reason, but I hope those of you that still are here will enjoy this chapter and the others I manage to get out. I really missed all of you and I hope I can get back into this story along with you. :)**

* * *

 **Carmen Ionique-Astron, 17**

 **District Twelve Female**

* * *

I groan and toss in my sleep, unable to keep my eyes closed for long. Yesterday I slept fitfully, and it's the same tonight. Paranoia races through my veins as every couple of minutes my eyes flick open, surveying the area around me fearfully. Sometimes, I almost expect to see Chavez leaning over me, grinning as he dangles a dagger above my throat. However, mostly I keep waking up, trying not to cry as I look around frantically for a moment for my infant son. I see his cute, pudgy face in my mind's eye every time I awake, and I have to stifle the tears that crowd into my eyes.

This time, I can't force myself to close my eyes again. The sun is barely peeking over the horizon, yet I'm still cold and shivering. Chavez deemed me unfit to sleep in the center of the Cornucopia with the Careers, and all they gave me was a ratty blanket that just makes me dirty and provides almost no warmth. I guess I should be thankful they haven't killed me yet, but I don't feel any graciousness within me. All I feel is yearning sadness, my broken heart wishing I was holding my baby in my arms while my other kids and Aris were crowding around me back in Twelve. I just wish I could go home, but I know I can't. I just have to stay here, and do whatever the Careers ask of me. Running away will be pointless; they keep someone on guard at all hours of the night and that person would stop me and murder me before I could even try to explain myself. I know I'm going to be dead sooner or later, but my instincts are forcing me to stay here, where survival is more likely for the moment. I grunt and make myself stand. I won't be able to sleep any longer with all these thoughts of death, so I might as well start breakfast.

The cauldron where I made yesterday's chicken soup still hangs over the fire. However, it's mostly out now, just some smoldering embers. Zircon is taking guard, and he eyes me warily as I try to figure out how to get the fire started up again. I look up desperately at Zircon, and he sighs, walking over, his spear left leaning against the side of the Cornucopia. My senses suddenly become alert; I could break away now while Zircon is unarmed, maybe push him over and make a break for it. However, I'm too afraid to move, and I just clear my vote, looking away from Zircon as he brings the fire back to life and adds some tinder to the fire.

"We can't use too much wood, all we have is the wood in the Cornucopia," Zircon tells me firmly. "So don't add anymore."

"O-of course," I stutter, keeping my eyes pointed at my toes. Zircon stands there for a few moments, looking at me quizzically, before shaking his head and turning away. He walks back to his guard post, leaning against the side of the Horn tiredly and surveying the boring fields of wheat that stretch into infinity. As he zones out gazing out into the arena, I creep into the Horn to gather supplies for the soup. The other fresh foods we have in the Cornucopia are stacked in a pile near the mouth. I pick up a bag of tomatoes and haul them over to my cauldron along with a pretty dull dagger, probably too dull to do much damage to a human. It was the dagger Chavez single handedly picked out just for me to make sure "I didn't hurt anyone". I don't know why he has his panties in such a twist over me, I do whatever he tells me out of survival instinct, and he could end me easily. He's a lot more scared and paranoid than he'll ever let on.

I pour a good amount of water from a jug inside the Cornucopia into the cauldron, and then I set to work chopping the tomatoes one by one into itty bitty pieces. Zircon keeps looking over at me curiously, probably wondering what I'm making. He's so rich and such, he probably couldn't even make a basic tomato soup. It's simultaneously annoying and pleasing to see the boy be curious to find out how one makes a simple broth. The tiniest bit of a smile crawls onto my face for a moment as I revel in the fact that I'm better at something than Zircon O'Dile, even if it is something as useless in the Games as cooking. The smile grows just a little as I stir the soup a little bit before continuing to dice more tomatoes.

That hint of a smile is wiped off of my face when I feel someone's hand slap across my face. Gasping, I stagger and grab onto the lip of the cauldron, trying to keep myself upright. However, the metal is pretty hot, and I squeal. Letting go of the scalding metal, I fall onto my butt in the mud while fucking Chavez looks down on me, glaring. I try to crawl away, but he just moves closer.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Chavez screams, a vein popping out on his forehead. Zircon is watching the exchange, a little concerned but unwilling to get involved. The other Careers are waking up now at Chavez's yell as I struggle to eke out a response.

"I-I a-a-am ma-making bre-breakfast-t," I manage to gasp out, physically shaking as tears start to pool in my eyes. I can feel Chavez's handprint stinging across my cheek, and I squeeze my eyes closed as if doing that will get me away from this hell. I feel the tears spill over and leak down my cheeks, and I wait for his response, knowing my death is coming in moments. He'll get pissed off, and just stab me and end this all. I wonder where he'll put his blade.

"Did we ask you to make breakfast, bitch?" Chavez scowls. "Huh? Answer me! DID WE?!"

"No!" I whimper, keeping my eyes closed and turning my head away from me.

"Look at me, you fucking coward!" Chavez barks, and he suddenly grabs my face, snapping my face towards him. I slowly force myself to open my eyes. A few more tears spill as Chavez fills my vision, inches from my face and majorly seething. He's going to break my neck. I can feel his hands gripping tighter around my face. He wants to try it, to snap my neck like a toothpick. He's been waiting since the Bloodbath to do this.

Suddenly, I see Ardin storming out of nowhere, hands on her hips and her lips angrily pursed. "What are you doing?!" Chavez's hands drop from my face as he turns and stands to face his arch nemesis. I fall backwards once he releases his vise-like grip on me, and I crawl away in the mud, trying to ease my sobs. I can still feel his hands clenching my face. As Ardin and Chavez continue to fight, I see Cordelia standing inside the Horn, looking at me worriedly.

"What the _FUCK_ , Ardin!" Chavez roars, glaring at her. She looks right back, matching his intensity. "Why the hell do you feel the need to counteract everything I do? I know this isn't about that stupid Outlier, why can't you settle down into your place and accept my authority?"

Ardin splutters for a few moments, utterly shocked, before she begins to cackle. She cackles ominously for at least five seconds, and Chavez's look goes from furious to confused. Once she stops chortling, Ardin's face hardens.

"Why can't I settle down into my place? Holy hell bells, your misogyny is almost as big and useless as your ego!" Ardin snickers, and Chavez's confused countenance quickly shifts back to angry, and he crosses his arms, continuing to glare.

"Misogyny? What the actual fuck is that?" Chavez inquires angrily. Ardin just continues to laugh, turning away and striding back towards the Horn where the rest of the pack watches in silence. Chavez is stunned that she is just walking away like that, and I am too. Why would you ever turn your back on a trainer killer who is absolutely furious with you, even if you are a trained killer yourself? Especially if that furious trained killer is an amazing knife thrower.

But Chavez doesn't move to do anything, and slowly things go to normal. Everyone resumes ignoring me like they usually do, and I creep back to my cauldron. The soup has probably been in a little too long, but that's not my fault. I add in the last few tomatoes, dicing them up quickly, and stirring it all together until it's ready. None of the Careers are paying attention, instead getting ready to go hunting. I stride slowly over to Trinity, and tap her on the shoulder.

"Breakfast's ready," I murmur meekly, keeping my eyes on the muddy ground, and the girl acknowledges what I've said with a simple grunt before turning to the other Careers and informing them of the news in her prettiest, most inviting voice. How...duplicitous. I guess she's not going to waste her sugary smiles and feigned kindness on me. I'm already dead in her head, a non entity, just a poor little Outlier that she'll be able to dispatch whenever she needs to.

Chavez makes me taste a little bit of the soup before they dig in to ensure that I haven't poisoned it. While he may be a total psychopathic asshole he isn't stupid. The Careers devour the soup, and they don't leave any for me when they're done. Chavez burps afterwards and mentions how it tasted pretty awful, and I know he's trying his best to provoke me. But I don't take offense, it's not like we have a state of the art kitchen here, it was some tomatoes, water, and salt in a cauldron, it's not going to be that great. But it's warm and it's food, and I can tell the others are happy to have something to eat besides rations like jerky or dried fruit. That's all we are going to have to eat soon enough, so they are cherishing the fresh food before they have to eat those stale packets.

In fact, I manage to smuggle one of the aforementioned packets out of the rations pile while no one is looking, and I stash it in my pocket. I guess they're not going to feed me, so I guess I'll get my own stuff. If it's even possible, I feel more like a neglected pet than ever before. They're just keeping me for the few tricks I'm able to turn out before they're going to finish me off. I hate this so much, but once again I know there is nothing I can do it about it so I remain quiet as ever.

Soon enough, I can tell the Careers are itching to go hunting, so they get ready to do so. They suit up, filling a couple of packs with food and water just in case they get separated, want something while they're hunting, or don't make it back to the Cornucopia by tonight. They automatically leave Cordelia to guard the Cornucopia since she's the weakest and most willing to do so, and then they're gone, just like that. I sit by the fire, watching as the five bloodthirsty Careers stalk off into the grass to hunt for some poor Outliers. Poor Outliers just like me.

Cordelia and I largely ignore each other at first; she paces around the perimeter of the Cornucopia mud patch with a spear, looking for intruders, while I slouch by the fire and do my best to distract myself from the overwhelming sadness and boredom filling me. When I think Cordelia has stopped paying attention to me, I lay down and take out my pack of jerky as quietly as I can. I tear it open and begin to eat. As I'm finishing it, I feel Cordelia's boot poke me between my shoulder blades. I shoot upwards, stuffing the jerky packet in my pocket.

"What are you doing?" Cordelia asks me, and if I didn't know better I would say she's genuinely interested in me. I guess she did save me on Day 1, but since then she's mostly ignored me like the others although she does give me a few worried looks every now and then. I don't know if those means she's worried for me, or worried about me. Anyway, I know she's a Career even if she was Reaped, and I know she doesn't have my best interest at heart.

"Uh, nothing," I murmur, even though I know she saw me eating. I just hope she doesn't yell at me too harshly.

"Carmen, I'm not going to yell at you for eating a packet of jerky," she says kindly. "It was rude that they didn't leave any soup for you."

"Not rude, I understand it," I mutter, biting my lip. "I don't exist to people like you. You people are gods."

I can't believe I just said that. I steel myself for her bitter retort, but she says nothing, just sitting down on the mud beside the fire.

"I'm not a god," Cordelia laughs. "Hardly. My dad trained us in his garage every now and then, but I never planned coming here. It was just a safety precaution. There's a reason they left me behind here. They know I don't have the same thirst for blood like them, and they know I'll just drag them down on the hunt."

"You feel like the outsider?" I inquire, actually curious. I can't believe this Career girl is being so open with me.

She turns to me and looks me straight in the eyes, and for some reason I can't look away as she whispers, "Absolutely. You and I, we're more alike than you think." The silly thing is that I believe her, I really believe her as she says that.

"What do you need from me?" I breathe, knowing that there's a reason she convinced the others to save me. She wouldn't care if Chavez amped up his villainy even more by killing me. She did this for a reason, and I need to know.

"Well, I have a plan," Cordelia confides, looking down at her hands now. "Zircon's sorta my friend and we bonded well pre-Games, but he's different now that we're in the Games. He's drifting from me and becoming more cold. I don't have anyone on my side, when the pack splits I'll be an easy target, I'll never make it out."

"So you're going to try and take them out before they take you out?" I ask, looking at her with extreme interest. Is she going to try and pull off some stunt that could get us both out of here without having to take them head on and inevitably lose?

"Yeah," Cordelia replies, trying to smile at me as she looks back up at me. Her eyes lock with mine once more, and I know she's being truthful. That or she's either an exemplary liar. I wouldn't put it past her for it to be the latter.

Suddenly, I feel my heart speed up just a little bit as hope floods back into my veins. Maybe I'm not as screwed as I thought.

"Awesome," I tell her, a small smile fighting its way onto my face. "I...that sounds awesome."

"You'd be in?" she questions.

"Of course," I scoff. "I'm even more fucked when the Pack splits than you are."

Before we can continue the conversation, however, we suddenly hear a large thundering noise. We both instinctively shoot to our feet, our heads whipping around as we search for the noise. It can't be a cannon, it's kept going. Cordelia urgently taps on my shoulder and points to the west. I gasp as both of our eyes are locked on the turmoil enveloping that side of the arena. We realize it might come by us soon as well, and we both retreat to the Cornucopia, curling up in the very back to hide.

"They can't get us in here," Cordelia huffs, and I really hope she is right. I'm just glad I don't have to face that out in the wide openness of the rest of the arena.

* * *

 **Luke Saturn, 17**

 **District Nine Male**

* * *

The sickle I grabbed from the Bloodbath hangs limply by my side in my hand as I walk forward. Bored as hell as I just keep moving through the sea of golden grass, I contemplate slicing down some stalks of the grass for fun, to ease the mood. However, I know doing that will just leave behind obvious marks of my trail. Even an Outlier who grew up in a city could track something like that. So I keep my weapon firmly by my side, continuing to move forward.

I've decided the best strategy is to move as much as possible. Sleep for a couple hours at the nighttime, get up and move, and then sleep some more, and then repeat. And then just keep moving throughout the day. It'll make it way harder for someone to track me, and it also gives me something else to do besides sitting around and waiting for something to happen. The walking and exploring this monotonous arena, while often dull, is more interesting than just lazing around and staying in one spot. Maybe it's a little riskier because I could bump into the Careers, but I don't think moving or not moving really matters in that debate. Either way you're going to have to eventually face them. I'd rather be moving and on my toes then sitting still and zoned out when I have to go up against Career(s).

Soon enough, I'm just a little surprised because I swear I feel the utterly flat arena tilt downwards just a little. I guess I'm not wrong, because a few moments later my boot splashes in a tiny stream. I stop, backing up and looking down. It's more a rivulet than anything, almost a foot wide and trickling through the small indent in the ground. It's so little that it's unnoticeable unless you're standing a few feet away from it and see the small gap in the sea of grain. I drop to my knees besides it, swinging the little golden brown pack I grabbed from the Bloodbath off of my back. This is exactly what I've been needing; I have dozens of granola bars in my pack along with an empty canteen, but no water, and I can already feel some of the dehydration setting in. The water looks clear enough, and it's probably one of the only sources of water out here. I doubt the Gamemakers want us to all get dehydrated to death since there's no safe water or die from drinking the water we find, especially in such a simple arena like this. The flat terrain and lack of hiding spots is more than enough to set the odds against us Outliers. Making all the water poisonous would just tip the scales so against us that they'd be ensuring a Career victory and have no shot at one of their beloved underdog storylines. So I decide to just take the risk and drink the water. If I end up dying, oh well. The Gamemakers are stupid as fuck if they make this water deadly.

I place my canteen's mouth in the little stream, and wait until it fills up before pouring some of the water in my mouth. Instantly, I feel a lot better. I didn't realize how dry my throat was, and how thirsty I felt. I gulp down the entire canteen before filling it back up, and drinking that full one as well. I need as much water as possible in me; I'm not going to be coming back here for a long time, as it'll be a hotspot of activity if others discover it. I wanna avoid activity as much as possible these first few days. I'll wait until the others are more worn down and their instincts are dulled before I start pursuing them.

Once I sate my thirst with another full canteen of water, I fill up the canteen and screw the cap closed. I shove the canteen in my pack, and pull out one of the granola bars from my pack. This one's half eaten, I ate the other half early this morning when I woke up around dawn. I chomp down the other half into my pretty empty stomach. Then I stuff the empty wrapped back into my pack. Leaving it out here would help someone track me. Then I stand up to keep moving, and suddenly I hear a faint rumble. Looking around wildly, soon my eyes find what the source of the sound is, and suddenly I'm falling backwards in time.

 _"Mommy! Daddy!" little Luke whimpers. Kneeling in the bloody grass outside of his family's little shack, he's been prodding his parents for almost two hours now. The steers that plowed them over and crushed them into the earth are long gone now, stampeding through another part of the Midlands. Little Luke doesn't know what this means, the holes in their bodies and the crushed bones and disjointed limbs. He doesn't know what this slick red liquid covering their bodies, the grass, and now him is. He just knows that this is his Mommy, this is his Daddy, and they aren't talking to him anymore._

 _Soon enough, he starts to crawl down the dusty path connecting their shack to the rest of the village. He picks himself onto his feet and starts to run, run as fast as he can, as tears start to stream down his face. He still doesn't know what is happening but he knows something is wrong._

 _The first woman he finds is putting back up the faded town sign, reading "Welcome to Ropin", at the beginning of the village. She pales and drops her tools the moment she sees the little boy smattered in red scrambling towards her with hot tears streaking down his chubby cheeks. She picks him up and carries him into the village as the strongest men sprint to the Saturn shack to see if there is anything to salvage of his parents._

 _There isn't._

The reverie is suddenly pulled away, and now I can see them. Dozens and dozens of bison are stampeding from the western corner of the arena, closer to me than I like. In fact, they're heading my way right now, hundreds of them, a rippling sea of snorting, horned beasts crushing the grass underneath their hooves. They're crazed, made mad by something, probably the Gamemakers, and nothing can stop them. And I can't move. I know right then, that I am going to die. This is my one fear. This is my kryptonite. I am going to die like my parents. I am going to die here, prepared for these Games and poised to win, because I can't run from some silly fucking bison.

I try to make myself move, drag myself away from the edge of the stream and sprint. It's hopeless; I shake, but the fear has me rooted to the spot. All I can see is my mother not breathing, the blood pooling underneath my father's serene head. I can feel the blood, slick and gushing, pouring over my fingers and through the gaps between them. I can see myself watching through the window as they are crushed like beetles under a man's shoe.

Too soon, the first bison stampedes past me, snorting and saliva flying from its mouth. It's fifteen feet to my right, but it's close enough to make tears start streaming from my eyes. I stagger backwards as I force myself to move, and that's enough movement to get me to start moving. It's like I'm moving through molasses, but I trudge forward, slowly picking up speed as a couple more bison run past. One look back, though, and I know my stumbling pace is not enough. Hundreds of the creatures are coming, and they're close. And they're not spread out, they're grouped closely together, hooves pummeling the ground into nothing.

I curse the Gamemakers over and over through my tears. How did they know? Did they know? If so, why target me? I was going to give them a show. I was going to be their little underdog, murdering little kids if I had to to get out of here. I was going to be their pretty little Victor that they could do anything to. I feel almost nothing, they could use me like a little doll and I'd just let them do it in the name of survival. I would be their perfect toy.

The first bison that's coming my way uses its horns to throw me to the ground. I fly and land, hard, on the ground a couple of feet away. As I try to pick myself up, hooves are smashing into my back, my neck, my skull. I scream and groan and try my best to get to my feet, but it's too late. I'm trapped under the stampede. I can already feel my head bruising, and my left arm is shattered. I scream and scream and scream, and I manage to flip myself around as I try to escape, which is an even bigger mistake. My eyes open wide.

The last hoof lands right between my eyes, and hundreds of pounds of pure muscle and bond and fur and fat smash onto my skull. It cracks like an egg, and then I'm just gone. I'm dazed for a few moments but I know this is it, this is my last few seconds, as I feel the hoof draw out of my brain. That's it.

I'm gone.

* * *

 **Fender Hopkins, 17**

 **District Six Male**

* * *

BOOM!

The loud sound of a cannon shattering the air makes me go into alert mode. The past few days I've been resting in a random spot in the grass, pretty far from the Cornucopia. I got bored of moving around and finding nothing. There's not going to be any special cave or hill or the like to hide in, so I just chose a random spot and hunkered down. Maybe it's not necessarily the best strategy but at least I'm not leaving tons of tracks everywhere.

Anyway, I've been zoning out as of late, losing my focus and just plain relaxing. The cannon destroys that. The paranoia and fear bubbles in my stomach and clouds my mind. Adrenaline starts to rush even though the death probably happened on the other side of the arena. I make myself sit up (I've been lying down so I can't be seen unless you're close). I look around, and that's when I spot what's coming. The stampede.

We don't really have large animals in Six. Some giant rats and the occasional dog are the extent of my experiences with animals in my District. However, they beasts are giant. They look like cows, but furrier and brown with little horns. They look like they could crush me with one step, and they probably could; I'm guessing this Gamemaker-triggered event is what caused that cannon to fire. I try to think of their names, but I come up blank. It's not like they waste time teaching biology in Six anyway, who's gonna use that in a smoggy District where half the kids turn into gangsters or addicts?

Whatever the heck they're called though, they're rushing towards me, angry as hell and destroying everything in their path. They're still far off, maybe three fourths of a mile, but I can still see them, that's how damn flat this entire arena is. I hate to stand up and reveal myself, especially if there's someone else nearby, but I can't just sit here and let myself be trampled. I rise to my feet and start running diagonally towards them.

Just running straight away doesn't make sense; they'll stay on their path and gain on me. If I run diagonally, I can get out of the way. I could run diagonally away from them, but I get a sense I'm nearing the edge of the arena. I don't want to be electrocuted to death by the force field while running away from a herd of stampeding whatchamacallits, and I should have enough time to get far away from the stampede running diagonally.

It still feels scary and wrong to run sorta towards them as I pick up my pack and start running as fast as I can diagonally through the grass. The fear pumps through my veins; the giant beasts are freaky, but I'm even more worried about what will happen if another tribute finds me. The Careers are definitely hunting now and if they're nearby, I could be getting an arrow or a throwing knife in my back at any moment. I just wanna hunker down again, but I know I can't do that unless I want to get crushed. So I keep running, and soon enough I've steered far enough away that I'm pretty sure I'm out of the way.

I'm right. I squat in the grass, peering just barely over the tops of the grass as the mutts rush past. With every heavy, frantic step their fatty bodies ripple. They look so monstrous, but in their eyes all I see is fear, not malcontent. They're not here to kill, they're just scared, and causing havoc in their wake. It's like us kids trapped in here. The fifteen of us left...well, fourteen after that cannon...are all scared, no matter if we say it or not. We're all just like those animals, bounding forward to save themselves and destroying the world around them. We're just scared.

My thoughts are disrupted when I hear a loud shout from the path of the stampede. I see a dark skinned man dodging the creatures, he's somehow stayed in their path and avoided being gored or trampled. But one smacks into his shoulder, and sends him to the ground. He avoids being trampled and hops to his feet, running out of the path of the mutts as the stragglers lumber past, trying to keep up with the rest of the herd. His shoulder looks banged up, and his right arm dangles limply. Once he's out of the way, he huffs and pauses, looking around. Soon enough he spots me, and our eyes meet for a couple of seconds. I slowly rise to my feet, not knowing what to expect from Omri. None of his allies are with him; I saw the Three boy dead from the Bloodbath, and then last night to my surprise the Seven girl was in the sky. And the Three girl is nowhere to be found. Omri's alone, and I don't know what's up with him. Did he kill the Seven girl? Is he lost? Looking for his allies? Is the Three girl the one whose cannon just fired? If not what happened with them? These questions crowd my mind, but I shove them away as we continue to stare at one another.

"Fender?" Omri hollers, and I nod, moving towards him pretty slowly. He does the same, and then puts his hands up. I do the same, and then he chuckles just a little bit, shaking his head and relaxing. With that, I relax a little. However in my head, my alarm bells are still ringing loudly. The adrenaline from escaping the stampede is still coursing through me, and I'm still on edge. I guess that's good, Omri could be tricking me and trying to shank me. So I'm honestly not too mad to still be on guard as we approach one another. Soon enough we're a few feet apart, and we both stop walking towards one another.

"Hey," I mutter, looking up at him.

"Hey," he says, sighing. "Don't freak out, alright? I'm not going to kill you."

"Same here," I tell him, crossing my arms. "So what do you want? Do you need help to find the Three girl?"

Omri's teeth instantly clench upon hearing her name, and I can tell immediately that I've hit a nerve. He bites his lip and fumbles over his words for a few moments before he gets out, "Um...yes. But not to ally with her."

"Oh."

"Yeah." He looks at his hands for a minute before looking back up at me. "But like that's not the only reason I didn't run or attack when I saw you."

"You wanna work together?" The question just slips out without thought. How tactful, Fender.

"Definitely," Omri replies with a small smile, and I'm happily surprised by his response. "I liked you in training. You seemed tough, and that's something I like in an ally. Easy going too. But Ivy didn't want to add anyone else so I let you go."

Ivy, that's the Seven girl's name. Omri seems to get distant for a second after saying her name. "How did she die?" I ask. Maybe a little blunt, but I can tell it's crowding in his head. Maybe if he gets it out, some of the pain will leave.

"Fuji was acting weird, and Ivy was getting annoyed by it," Omri says. Fuji. That's the Three girl, I'm guessing. "Fuji overheard Ivy saying she wanted to kill Fuji sooner than later. However we thought Fuji was asleep. Fuji killed Ivy and ran after I...I fell asleep on guard."

"It wasn't your fault, dude," I tell him automatically. "That sucks though. She seemed like a cool chick."

"She was," Omri agrees, nodding. "Well, so I'm just sort of after Fuji. If we get a chance to confront her, I'm taking her down and I'm not going to back down."

"Don't blame ya," I reply.

"How have things been for you?" Omri inquires.

"Boring," I chuckle. "I've just been sitting in the grass and waiting to meet someone."

"Well, I guess it's your lucky day to meet me," Omri laughs with a small smile. "Now, I sort of have a pressing problem to ask you to help me with?"

"Yeah?"

"My arm? Pretty sure it's dislocated."

I look at his limply hanging arm, and I resist the urge to laugh. He's probably been trying to get me to help him out with it, but I've just kept talking and talking while his arm swells and probably hurts like heck.

"You want me too..."

"Uh, you're the only option to do it?" Omri snorts. I walk over as Omri rips off his shirt and stuffs it in his mouth so he won't make a loud noise when I pop his shoulder back into place. I gingerly grab his shoulder, and soon I pop it back into its socket. Thank god I've done this before with Torque or I might've just made it worse. Omri obviously tenses and then winces when I put it back in place, but after he takes the shirt out of his mouth he comments that it's already feeling better.

"That's good," I tell him with a smile. "Anyway, I think we should probably get down by now, the Careers have to be out hunting somewhere."

"Right," he says, nodding. "Well, let's go."

We both lean as low as we can and start jogging forward, moving away from the place of the stampede. The grass of their path is matted down, exposing anyone who would try to hide there, and the Careers will surely check the stampede path for any wounded Outliers who haven't been finished off yet. So it's smartest if we get the heck out of here and find another place to hide in plain sight.

Omri and I don't say much to each other, but it's pleasant to be working together, to have someone you know is watching your back. I don't know if I can fully trust him yet, he is a charismatic guy who seems to be really playing these Games already due to the whole Ivy and Fuji thing. However, while I can take care of myself, it does feel comforting and relaxing to have someone else by your side. Of course some of that paranoia is there, but it's always going to be there. I have an ally now, and he's the strongest Outlier in this arena. I think we're going to be doing pretty good out here.

As it gets later in the day, suddenly a giant parachute starts to fall from the sky, directly towards us. We're both excited to receive something, although the huge looking sponsor gift definitely reveals our location. When it lands and we get closer to it, we both start to cackle. Omri looks at the chainsaw in awe while I crack open the note, seeing it was sent for Omri himself.

"What the _fuck_ are we going to do with this?!" Omri whoops in laughter, and I just laugh along with him. Stupid Capitolites.

* * *

 **A/N: I hope this chapter was worth the wait! I know that I've been gone so long but I hope you guys really enjoyed this chapter.**

 **15TH: LUKE SATURN, 9M - Killed by bison stampede**

 **I really liked this guy. Just due to his personality he wasn't very likable and he faded into the background. However, I thought he was a pretty realistic tribute and it was nice to have someone so solemn and serious compared to a lot of the more free spirited and open tributes. Also, his scenes about the stampede was tragic and awesome to write. When I got his form I knew this was going to be his death, because it was just so ironic and good and would be such a perfect place for him to end. While he wasn't necessarily anyone's favorite I did love writing him. The arena just took him out and there really wasn't much he could do about that.**

 **Kill Count:**

 **Trinity Vegas: 2 (Rufus, Gaia)**

 **Zircon O'Dile: 2 (Soya, Millard)**

 **Chavez Belasco: 2 (Baron, Jayce)**

 **Ardin Varnell: 1 (Sage)**

 **Tyberios Palatium: 1 (Bernie)**

 **Fuji LaMac: 1 (Ivy)**

 **Arena Events: 1 (Luke)**

* * *

 **What did you guys think of this chapter? It certainly was a thrill to write! What do you think Cordelia's plan is, and is Carmen right to trust her? What did you think of Luke's demise and the stampede twist? Also, what do you think of the new Omri/Fender alliance and their chainsaw? xD (thanks Plat)**

 **That chainsaw was a sponsor gift, if you guys want to send stuff in just PM me! I'm sorry I didn't keep track of points well, but if you've been consistently reviewing you can basically send in an item or two of whatever you want. If it won't mess up my story plan too much I'll allow it in! xD**

 **Thanks for all of you that are still here. I really, really appreciate it. I know the wait was terrible but I hope to get more updates out in the soon future and I hope some of you are still here because you all deserve to see the finish of this story :)**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **Tracee**


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